I'm that girl,
whom everybody seems to rely on.
They know they have me,
where they want,
because I'm a puppy.
They know I'm not letting,
their,
***** little secrets,
out.
They know the can count on me.

''It's our little secret,''
they say,
with a grin on their faces,
showing the attention seeker side,
of them.
They wanna be heard,
and listened to,
so they come to me.

But what about,
when,
I need to be heard,
and listened to?
Who can I tell my own,
little secrets to?

(e.k.j.)

I do not like this phase of a heart break.

When you purposely avoid love songs,
Or sometimes you play them just to make yourself feel like your hearts still pounding.

When the person you loved and hid from every waking soul is brought into a conversation.
Or when he isn't.

When you see other lovers who have made it years without the cruel hand of fate ripping their love from them.
Or when you see they haven't.

When you notice him writing you smaller, casual messages when they use to be breathtaking and beautiful.
Or when he doesn't write at all.

When I ask you if I am pushing you away and you say no.

"Alright, happy birthday! Text me later tonight?"

"Will do"

When every hidden goodbye ends with those two words. And my broken, belittled heart.

(i. r.)

It's like getting suffocated.
Hands around your neck,
squeezing harder,
and harder.
Yet it's not hands.
It's words.
Words you say.
Things you call me,
either straight to my face,
or behind my back.
Those are the words,
that suffocate.

(e.k.j.)