Cute
Pretty
Beautiful
****
While most women love hearing these words from the lips of their lovers for the evening,
I don't.
They aren't simple complements, they're ways to make me vulnerable.

Now I just sound like a white girl with issues, yeah I know.
But the truth is that everyone who has told me those words as only wanted what's between my legs.
And half the time, when they got it, they left.

I'm tired of men seeing me at 8am with no makeup or heels
Looking at me as if I had lied to them
Because I'm obviously looking for love* in the wrong places

One night stands don't make hoes into housewives
But they will certainly turn housewives into hoes.

Once upon a time, you called me beautiful
You called me your everything
called me the one.
but now, after all we've been through, what do you call me?
Idiot? *****? ****?

Go on, say it then.
Tell me what's on your mind for I can't see it.
you won't let me see it anymore.
and yet you blame me, but my dear I was handing you back your heart and you slapped it from my hand
Then you say I never loved you
but your wrong.
I did love you, once

I loved you when you were my protector
when all I needed was to speak your name because I was a frail child who didn't know how to run away or disappear completely
  I love you when you were kind
when you stood behind me with your hands on my waist laughing with your friends.

I didn't love you when you yelled at me over frivolous subjects.
I didn't love you when you were so paranoid I would leave you that I couldn't let my phone for for fear of you being angry.

now that we're said and done I can see how you affected me
because I don't journal like normal girls
I journal within my poetry.
and without you by my side I can see what kind of poet I truly am

Im a heartbreak poet.
im a crisis poet
Buut most of all
I'm a happenstance poet.

I take what I see and barely twist it for my creations.
and after all we've been through

After nine years of being there for me and not receiving credit
see why you were my protector.
because if you weren't there to teach me these things
never would have become the poet I am.

I never thought I'd see the day
When words fail me and I walked away
But the clouds have parted and the moss has dried
And I can still remember
*Once, you were mine.

I must simply be doing something wrong,
For if I'm worried where my track will end,
Surely that means I don't trust myself one bit.

Sure, I've haulted my existence to grab a taste of recklessness
But how far will the road take me,
Until I'm breathless?
Lying in roads ****** off greens
Jumping in cars without gasoline
I've become the very thing my mother tried to keep me from being.
I want to stop from this parade of self destruction and maybe get my life together
But that too is hard to do
When all you do all day is drink, smoke, and waste away.

I'm sorry I latched onto **you

I feel as if I'm becoming a *****.
As if my body is no longer the temple feminists and my mother claim it to be.
I just feel my body isn't my own.

I meet men every day.
Once I searched but now I let them find me.
It's not like they sit long enough to hear my words.
To hear how educated I am and how I'm pretty cool to be around.
Nah, all they want is my womanhood
And I, being weak for words and a pretty face,
Let them have it.

"That ***. ****, that ***."
Is that my redeeming factor?
"Those eyes, ****"
Is that the only thing about me, clothed, that interests you?
"****, them moves"
Boy if how I work in the bedroom is all you seek I need you to keep moving.

Because I'm sick of being the ***** of my friends

I had a conversation not long ago that most of my male friends wanna "hit that hard"
I gotta say, for a second I was flattered.
After being called ugly since I was young, being wanted in any way is flattering to me
Call me pretty and I'm yours.
Call me **** and I'll show you.

****
Reading my own words have instilled in me a will to stop but
The fact is that I won't
This destruction of my psychosis is simply the beginning, and certainly unbecoming
Of a girl like me,
I'd call myself a woman but that would disgrace the ones who work hard and love harder.

Nah, I'm done sneaking out of my house to hit it and quit it.
I'm done lurking in shadows for love.
The simple fact is that I don't know where this derailed train of self destruction will lead me but I have my one way ticket
Might as well find out, right?

I'm not a poet
I shouldn't claim the like
Because a poet would know more
About struggle and strife
While I myself lay my head on a bed
Some poets stay up all night
Driving home their nails
Into the coffin of conviction
How dare I say I'm impaled.
While others wrote beautifully on social issues or on love
I sit and stare at the wall
I churn out writings on things such as white struggles and heartache
I'll write about the same boy over and over again with a different ad lib.
I'll write about voices in minds I can't reach or begin to comprehend
So tell me how I'm a poet, again?
Because I can write a line and hit an enter key
I somehow think I'm a cool *** thing.
Nah man, I'm not a poet
I'm a wannabe