You say nobody loves you,
Who am I then? I love you.
You say you’re ugly and worthless,
That’s not true, you’re worth way more than this.
You say nobody gives a **** about you,
But how can you not see that I’m with you every step of the way, fighting with and for you.
You say that **** doesn’t deserve you,
And **** right you are.
He doesn’t.
You’re too good for him.
I know I just met you a couples weeks back,
But I’ve grown so fond of you.

I am still angry. My therapist said its okay to still be angry, that I reserve the right to be. I never learned how to feel anger the right way...I only become reminded of my father slamming the front door and the soft sobs as my mother begs him to calm down. Anger is often justified, but where the **** do I put it? I am not my father. Even though I'd like to I can't scream at you and I can't slam a door on what you did to me. Even though I'd like to I can't go back and stop your hand from hitting me across the face, I can't kick and scream until you got off of me. You're not my father but you were so much worse. You never showed anger, you only pinned me down with your words, and with your disgustingly muscular arms. You left me crying quietly in your bathroom while I try to cover up what you had done to me. You made me never want to leave because you were the world, and I'd be dead without the world. Well, I didn't die. I became addicted to the rattling of a pill canister and I shed the weight you put on me in only a few weeks. But you left me kicking and screaming inside. And I am still angry.

They say they love you.
And they care about you.
And that theyre there for you.

And. Thats supposed to feel good. Its supposed to feel nice.
Be nice.

But honestly.
It just makes me feel nervous.
Uneasy.
Apprehension and suspicion grip me.

They shake me.

And yet at the same time, mostly,
I feel apathy.
Nothing
As if your words were as grains of sand to my beach.
As if they were the folds of some drapery
That i depicted in my sketching class.
Singularly, it is so insignificance to me.
And maybe thats where im going wrong. Looking for beauty and solidity in pebbles and ripples.
It all. Means something. Everything. But.
It all means nothing.
Theyre just words.

And whos to say youre even real.

Wait.
Am i even real.

Pain is a necessity of one falling in love.

Have
You
Ever
handled
something
a
little
too
roughly
and
it
just
...
broke?