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Qynn Jul 2017
All my life I have been obsessed with the idea of being in love. The thought that if I gave my heart, my soul, my entire being to someone, that I would be repaid in kind. That the sweet nothings, whispered so much, would buzz on for days in my heart. That my mouth would be so often kissed, my lips would bleed. My body would ache from how often I would let my lover have me.

What a dream.

This fairy tale *******.
Qynn Jul 2017
Money can't buy you love,
but it can buy a smile.
That's about as good as it'll get
between you and I.
Qynn Jul 2017
Some days I'm okay with sitting at a desk
staring at a computer for hours on end.

Other days it's a ******* nightmare
because I have nowhere to run
when I suddenly remember how you broke
every promise you ever made.

If I could only be stronger -
shrug off the hurt
and tell myself that if I matter
so little to you,
so you should be worth nothing to me too.
Qynn Jul 2017
How strange it is
that we will write until our pens run dry
yet we will not dare to open our mouths
when we come face-to-face with the ones we love.

How awful.
Qynn Jul 2017
One day I will be some teenage boy's princess
a widow to myself, but in full bloom
longed to be taken
and more than just poised on the posters in his room

And as much as my eyes
will glimmer just for him
I will be some girl's witch
to be burnt at the stake.

Never in this life will I know how she will martyr me
for my words, or my face
for my selfish suffering.
Never in this life will I know
the confusing duality in being both loathed
and lusted after.

My face on a million blogs
my skin in someone's dreams
or my words inked beneath their skin.

The infamy I hunted after
commercialized, torn apart, over analyzed
and made out to be
just another man's sin.

Boy, remember well
just speaking my name to her
is a sin.
Qynn Jul 2017
There is nothing about me that is as delectable
as your hordes of ******.

I'm sorry that my belly jiggles more than my ***.

I'm sorry that I don't have the time or money
to spend on looking like a ****.

I'm sorry that I'm not even worth getting blow jobs from any more.

I wish I was even worth kissing.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
Qynn Jul 2017
You are my hologram
a beacon of light and life
always present, but never mine
to touch or taste.

And somehow still, I can remember
your sweat on my pillow
and how you tasted - every bit of you
every night for months.

It felt like years.

The feel of your breath upon my neck
as you panted in my ear.

I still hold the memory
of us in bed together
so very dear.
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