The Devil That Taught Me I Couldn’t Be Loved

Student stories

by Bethan Manley.

Bethan is an English Language and Creative Writing student. She is also a poet with a background in slam poetry and prose. She is a singer-song-writer turned poet so her poems tend to flow and be heartfelt. If she’s not writing you can normally find Bethan anywhere with dogs! This is a prose piece adapted from one of her poems, and suitable for slam prose performance.

There are nights when I still can’t sleep—still haunted by your touch, your eyes, and the mouth that taught me that I couldn’t be loved. Shouldn’t be loved. Beloved

Now I am a fortress with walls high enough to stop people getting in. You are not who I thought you were. I am not who I thought I was. Trying to figure out truth from lie.

I still can’t.

I just know you were lying when you said you loved me, when you said forever, but…

I am okay

I dance with ghosts, memories of things, until the early hours. Memories of things. I wish I could change. Taunted by the devil that lurks in your smile, holding his hand, walking into hell, and burning my body trying to make you love me.

I still have the scars

I lost my halo trying to save you.

Maybe I am the fallen angel?

Maybe I am my own devil?

Maybe I only have myself to blame?


I tried to love you so deeply, but you weren’t ready. You took my love for naivety, and I don’t blame you.

I wish I could. I’m tired of blaming myself.

My mother has spent nights convincing me that it’s not my fault.

“A devil is still a devil, whether an angel loves him or not.”

I stopped loving you, but the devil still lurks in your smile.