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 sold security at a bargain price, before scamming me of my sanity.
Isn’t it ironic how you’d always remind me that you were a good person when you were kicking my teeth in?
-She's Burning
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 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.