It’s not that you do not want my love
It’s that you do not want me.
Feb 6, 2019
Feb 6, 2019 at 4:55 PM UTC
Homme Un
Il me regarde et il me ment
Je me sens comme une enfant devant une vitrine de mensonges
Il me sourit, me noit lorsque je plonge
Je rêve d'une bouffée d'air
Mais je ne respire que l'alcool de ton haleine
Je cours mais ne m'éloigne guère
Homme Deux
Me fait me sentir belle
Tout comme les trois autres femmes
Qu'il voit chaque semaine
Je ferme les yeux pour ne pas voir
Mon reflect douloureux, triste dans un miroir
Il oublit de m'appeler le soir, ne préviens pas qu'il rentre ****
Après tout je ne suis que trophée numéro deux,
Je n'ais pas de valeur dans tes yeux
Homme Trois
M'emmène en vacances
Il prépare quelque chose, je pense
**** de moi la pensée d'un rêve différent
Je vis ma vis à chaque instant
Tourne la tête quand il comtemple
L'écran de sont téléphone avec passion,
J'évite, je m'invente des raisons
Il ne peut pas partir, ne peut pas s'en aller
Je n'ai même pas eu le temps d'arrêter de l'aimer
Homme Quatre
N'aura aucune chance
De rentrer dans la danse
Je me suis fais blessée trop de fois pour compter
Je ne survivrais pas une quatrième calamité
Jan 7, 2018
Jan 7, 2018 at 10:52 AM UTC
1. I created my own mask when I was 8 and crying in the back of a cab.
2. I had taken for granted the joy and happiness but my eyes were seeing through tears and for the very first time I could not breathe under the weight of the stone placed upon my heart and we were driving away and away
and away
3. When the plane took off I stopped crying
4. I do not remember the next 2 years
5. At age 13, I spent 3 years being bullied. During winter I would hold my forehead against the radiator until it burned and burned and I would tell my parents I wasn’t feeling well. They would let me stay home by myself and I would feel such relief at not having to see the people who hurt me. I would end my days in my room hugging my frame and reminding myself I am worth something.
6. At age 16 I took my bag full of my broken self-esteem and destroyed self-worth and left the continent to get a chance at mending myself.
7. It has been years but I still feel worthless sometimes.
8. When I come back to the place where it all took place I get mad. The adults who were supposed to protect me just looked at me down with pity and the family that should have been there for me did not understand that I was not being dramatic this time, Dad, and perhaps the saleswoman skills you praise me for were acquired while bargaining for my life you know nothing. I hid all the places where they broke me under a mask that fit so well over my face I do not know how to get it off. It fits so well you never realized it isn’t me, Dad, Mom, you know something is wrong. I see you staring with wariness when I get lost in thought, my hand creating waves in the wind from the open window of the backseat of your car, but you never say anything.
9. Even if you did speak to me, I wonder what I would be able to explain. I cannot even speak clearly to my psychiatrist.
10. I try. Isn’t it enough to try ?
11. The mask does not come off, not for you, not for him, not for anyone. Not even for myself. I wonder if I will ever see my real face again.
Jul 25, 2017
Jul 25, 2017 at 10:50 AM UTC
Spoken word is the only thing that drives me to the breaking point because all the words, all the feelings that are trapped inside my soul are somehow released into the air and linger around for people to breathe in
suddenly,
it is not as hard as I usually feel like it is to be
connected to people
we are all moved by the same poets who dare to come up on stage and bare their feelings
it drives me mad
That only in that specific place can I become who I wish to be
It is hard
to blend in
with the people whose soul are not rooted in their bodies as deeply as others
and to think they never wonder about things like
why whales have no ears but can listen to their partner across thousands of miles
and how
bumblebees are impossible and yet wander the Earth like nothing is wrong.
I wonder if it’s easier to stay rooted to the earth with little thoughts that never make you want to touch the sky rather than be weighed down by feelings and too heavy to fly no matter how hard you try to leave.
Jul 21, 2017
Jul 21, 2017 at 10:58 AM UTC
Often I feel like people do not realize I am smarter than they think. Perhaps not in the way I handle math problems or in the way I act out.
But in the way I observe and listen when they believe I am not.
The way I take notice of things and keep that in mind for the next time, and the way I see what makes them tick, what makes them uncomfortable and where to hit to hurt.
I tend to know and knowledge is power, but it is also restrain.
I have bit my tongue many times to avoid saying something at the right time to hurt just where the skin is soft and the bone is fragile.
I am a demon with a sword but all they see is a dumb young girl. Sometimes I wish I could show them my ****** teeth as I rip them to shreds right where the wound is red and raw and too often scratched by words. I could rip it open all over again, and you would not see me coming.
You would never expect me.
It is my blessing and my curse;
I wish to hurt to relieve my own pain but I have been wounded so many times I cannot inflict a blow to somebody else
Though I long to bare my claws and rip out the goody-two-shoes so you may see the monster beneath.
Jul 21, 2017
Jul 21, 2017 at 10:14 AM UTC
When will I get to say
We
Us
Our
Instead of
I
Me
Mine
Being alone is no longer nice.
Being alone makes me feel lonely.
I never used to feel lonely.
And now that I do,
I just want to be able to say
"We"
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 4:40 PM UTC
I get these bursts of want, of extreme need to be someone's something
When I see someone being somebody's someone
And
I'll feel lonely and longing and that urge to touch touch touch someone in a way I never do. I want to massage your head
**
and touch your ears and have you touch me and i wonder how long has it been since that happened it was so long ago i MISS it in a way i didn't 3 minutes ago
and now my head is full with it and i want nothing more but your touch and touching you
**
The best way I can explain it is having an addiction of sorts.
You train yourself to stop craving something
But you have a bite
and you
descend straight to hell.
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 3:35 PM UTC
I want to know whywhywhywhy did he flush our friendship down the drain.
What I mean is, whywhywhywhy don't you love me?
We sit down with our coffees.
I cannot remember who paid. I think I did. Why? You hurt me, I pay for your coffee? I remember feeling awkward, feeling bad. I want you to like me. I hope, maybe, if I pay for your coffee, you'll pay for mine another time… You'll want to see me again.
You'll want to have coffee with me.
Again.
I don't know that yet, but we only have coffee once more after that, months later. We do not talk about anything in particular. It will break my heart again. But I will get back up. I will gather my heart and let it grow stronger. But we are getting ahead of ourselves.
When we sit down, I realize I made a mistake.
You do not want to be there.
I am on the defensive. Afraid.
I have been burned by you, and I do not know why I hope you won't try to burn me again.
This coffee talk leads nowhere.
I backtrack, I want to go forward but I backtrack and we talk nonsense for an hour.
Nothing that should be talked about is talked about. Everything stays hidden in the shadows, together we walk the 'enchanted' walk where everything is beautiful and everything is fine. The broken pavement where I lay my heart to die stays beneath the ashes of what-we-should-have-talked-about.
We never talk about that coffee ever again.
I do not think either of us mind.
There are darker things buried in all of us.
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 11:51 AM UTC