Today in class, I saw you writing a spreadsheet
Numbering girls looks from 1 to 10
You gave me a 7, told me that was alright
But I don't want you to define my beauty with a number
To the government, I'm just a digit
To charities, I'm a statistic
To businesses, I'm only the amount I own
I want to go back to the days when you wrote poems about me
You caressed my flaws and kissed my imperfections
The day you told me I was gorgeous, I looked myself in the mirror
"I'm actually pretty" "I'm like all those other girls" I told myself
But what's changed since then?
When you fell out of love with me, did my importance sink too?
With a clear view, do my downfalls and my embarassing body diguist you?
You were too insensitive to show the slightest bit of affection
So you labelled me, gave me an average and put me in a category
To you, I just want to be human
To be beautiful
To be loved
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 2:02 PM UTC
I know if I fall for you again
It'll be the fall that will break me
I should have gave up ages ago
While I was still on my feet
Because I know you never loved me
You never made an effort
You never cared
You never took the time to understand me
But you got your way
Wrapping me around your little finger
With constant lies and manipulation
You fooled me around
Hurt me and led me on
I became depressed
You were no longer the only one in the wrong
Because I never took the time to care for me either
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 1:50 PM UTC
When you told me you loved me
I believed every word said
Love struck on hope
Dreaming of the best
I thought you'd stand by me
I thought that you cared
I thought we'd kiss passionately
I had no reason to be scared
Then I saw you with her
Looking deep into her eyes
Telling her your feelings
Telling her your lies
I suppose I was naive
15 and insecure
You never even gave
My feelings a second thought
It's just like they say
In time you'll find the one
I used to think that was you
But for now, I'm done
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 2:49 PM UTC
It’s true what they say,
we always hurt the ones we love
and love the ones who hurt us.
We can quote Bukowski as much as we want,
but we need to realize the severity of his words.
“Find what you love and let it **** you.”
Love is a death sentence.
It is a sweet one, but in love’s very nature it is a death sentence nonetheless.
You will search the world for someone whose favorite book is The Picture of Dorian Gray
and who worships the same 1953 Hepburn film
and inhales dark coffee in the way that you do.
But you will end up settling for someone who has skimmed the back cover biography of Wilde
and who remembers when and where Audrey was born
and drinks java from a little coffee shop that you think is pretentious.
Yet there will be a time when you will find someone that you can’t live without
and you will be shell-shocked when you see that they can breathe air through their lungs
and eat the spicy food that you don’t like
and sleep with the window cracked just a little bit
all without you.
You will hate yourself more than anyone for letting yourself need someone as much as you need that one person,
who doesn’t even know that when you say you only take two sugars in your coffee,
you actually mean four, sometimes five.
You will ignore their pleas and roll your eyes at their petty compromises.
You will make them miserable because you love them more than they love you.
And they will stick around because they feel guilty for that very reason.
You will salt their wounds and ice their veins.
They will leave you on the side of the road and try their best to hate you.
You will both recognize that it is a valiant yet fruitless effort.
The line between hate and love is so slight that a feeling can change like a compass.
Love is hate and hate is love.
So you will grow to tolerate their lack of literary prowess
and enlighten them on what you actually mean when you say two sugars.
Most times everything will feel off and never quite the way you had expected,
and you’ll always wonder if you have ever really been happy,
and if this is actually how love feels.
When this happens, you must remind yourself that love is a complicated emotion.
It is in the tide of the sea
and the phases of the moon
and sometimes found in a frightening trek down Memory Lane.
You can find it in the face of every person that you have ever met
and sometimes it does not grace those pretty faces for very long at all.
The most truthful and sad part of it all is that it will eventually **** you.
But it is a death sentence at it’s finest.
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 12:21 PM UTC
you're the book that she can't put down
you're the lead character in the book of her life
defined by the words on the frail pages
of the torn, musty leather bound book
stood a couple of inches above the rest on the shelf
she re-reads your story over and over
wishing to explore another life with the very fingertips she uses to repetitively turn each page
as if to discover relief from the heartache you've caused
but you're just another book on her bookshelf
that fills her body with deviance and self hate
manipulating her life with each word
each page
each chapter
she reads in anger and distaste
objectifying pain with each sentence
to a level she can longer tolerate
you become the book she tosses into the fire
your memories, your appearance become no more than the ashes laying on the floor
you're the book she ruined
you're the book that ruined her
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 6:02 PM UTC