Who am I?
I'll never know,
So you don't stand a chance.

I, the real me, has been hidden by fuchsia feathers and fairy wings,
Restrained in ribbons since in infancy.

Sometimes I think even my coffin will be smothered in sequins and surrounded by only my proudest of family.
"She was always so sensible"
"What an angel"
They'll say as they watch me lie there, one last time.

I was one granddaughter amongst six grandsons. Or as they put it, I was "our little princess"
(Even at the age of seventeen in maturity's mirage).

My entire life has already been decided for me. I am destined, doomed you might say, to be great. Great in their eyes, adequate in mine.

Never was I free to make my own choice.
Never was I free to find my own voice.
Never was I free
And never will I be.

I recall how it was to be your woman. Terrified by that crazed look in your eye, and that sneer, that grimace, fuelled by frustration? Or some sort of love I didn't understand? Or maybe just the satisfaction you gained from making me thrall. I bet you never knew how many moans I faked in the hope that you'd stop. Perhaps you never realised your misinterpretation of my cries for help as cries of pleasure. The bruises on my body were temporary but the scars on my heart remain a constant reminder of you. And how you were all I thought I wanted, all I never had, and all I wish I didn't know.

Persistently you go
But she still says no,
Damaging your ego.
Then finally you date her
Though you know you'll learn to hate her
Like you hated all the rest.
But still you try your best.
High maintenance, she puts you to the test.
You accuse her of being a cheater
Which justifies how you beat her,
And the way you mistreat her.
Know you should be sweeter
But still you fail.
Repeat of past lovers,
You bail.
She's just like the others.
Girls are all the same
And *** and love are games.
Boy, don't you feel ashamed?
You think relationships are lame
So you again you quit;
Go find a hit
Because reality is ****.
You need a high to escape
From the feelings you hate
And the fear in her face.
But what's this? Now you want her back?
Realised she's the one who kept you on the right track?
Sober up and then you beg her to stay,
Beg her not to go away,
And not to leave you by yourself
Like an unwanted book collecting dust on the shelf.
Your power over her has gone,
She knows she's done no wrong,
Now she's singing better songs
About how she's moved on
So she ups and leaves.
She saw right through the tricks all hidden up your sleeves.
Should've treated her better
While you had the chance.
She's wearing someone else's sweater
She ain't under your trance
She ain't under your spell
Because now she's with somebody who can treat her well.

I've written 64 poems about you.
Let this be the last.
I plead and I beg you,
Become a thing of my past.

If you love me
Then leave me
Like you left me before,
When you left me for dead on our ***-tainted floor.

Get out, get out of my brain and my head,
Out from under my skin and the sheets of my bed.

I'm not asking for our memories to be all erased,
Just asking to ease the pain of lovesick and daze.
I'm asking for my thoughts to be clear of this haze,
And to find love easier than in the paths of this maze.

Is it too much to ask to come down from your high?
To remove the imprint of handprint from my hideous thigh?
To fall down from something which once made me fly?
This rhyme scheme's a mess and I can only guess why.
It symbolises the chaotic and desperate tears that I cry.
And I cry off my makeup only to reapply
Mascara tears that give me another black eye.
And I cry and I cry till my eyes are run dry.
Want to know something else I hate about I?
I said this is the last but I know that's a lie.

I prefer the way you feel between my thighs than inside my head.