Self-sabotaging again, what’s wrong with me? I know this trajectory; I know it well. Another predictable ending, another scar to add to the collection. You're ruining me and you don’t care a bit. Still, I willingly step into the fray, embodying an unhealed masochist. I’m
You wanted me to satiate you, whilst you drip fed me a diet of anxiety. You insisted I pour sunshine into you, as you draped every window in my house in black cloth. You asked me to thaw your frosted heart, then suffocated the flames of every lit match. You
You sent me a text last night. You wrote: “You were different, intriguing even and unlike anyone I’ve ever met before”. In saccharine detail you said, “Life without you is a palette of grey. Where did I go wrong?” Forgive me for being cutthroat, it’s just that the
Men* say women are too fussy, too nit-picky. They say women have unrealistic expectations and impossibly high standards. But, I’ve never met a man who genuinely enjoys it when I take up more space than him, spread my legs a little wider at the table. A man who’s
The day I met you is imprinted in my mind. I remember every detail: the Verve playing in my headphones, the grey hued sky, the all-consuming conversations and the scent of coffee intermingling with rain-soaked tar. You were smart. You were soft. You were emotionally attuned. I wanted you, desperately.
They say you can’t fight fire with fire - becoming water didn’t protect me from third-degree burns. They say softness combats hardness - it made it harder to detect the lowest blows. They say it’s all in your delivery - speaking eloquently didn’t save me from
They ask me: “Why do you love them?” I open my mouth to speak, but the words lodge themselves in the back of my throat, rendering me mute. In the silence, I hear the quiet utterances of my heart: how can you describe a love that burns, not flickers, pours,
The voices cried: "let yourself go! how many steps did you do today? you're so sexy! you dress like a lesbian! chase your dreams! stop romanticising everything! be realistic! what do you want? just relax! stop putting so much pressure on yourself! fuck men! date women! say
These greedy men dig their hands into you like claws, searching for more than just skin. They’re grasping for crimson coloured fleshy bits and muscle to tear; they want to dismember you. clutching. fisting. death grip. These greedy men will look you dead in the eyes and ask audaciously,
I’m sad. “Go eat some chocolate darling” I can feel my heartbeat pumping through my chest. “Take a Xanax darling” I’m unsatisfied. “Just have another baby darling” I want to scream. “Don’t waste your energy darling” Is this a joke? “Women just aren’t funny darling” I’
Darling, let’s call a spade a spade shall we? This little life of ours is fleeting. I adore you, that much is true. But darling, I’ve endured violent hands throttle my neck. I’m still breathing They’ve cut me with sharp edges and scraped out my insides
Have you ever Crashed into someone heart first Converged ? A collision of violent ecstasy, heart pumping bones shattering teeth reduced to shards. The voices in the backseat never cease pleading: BRAKE! Only accelerating comes naturally. - She’s Burning