Nothing is going to change the fact that you’ve stabbed me
But I’m taking away the knife.

Sometimes it’s so okay
It’s in the past
Others I remember sitting with you
Feeling not so alone

Life is the bag of colourful Knick knacks that my nan picked off of the street
Like putting your hand in a bag of jax blindly
Drawing out different and new unexpected things

A professor enjoying my individual creative work
And a boss recognizing my ability to work with little support
Two men appreciating me for my brain

Over time, the rain could no longer bring joy. the car rides were only to work. To responsibility. Food became necessity. No fun in necessity. Shared, but not. Satisfied, but not.

Everything we loved together became grey. Everything we shared became pain. Responsibility. Burden.

Two people,
Two energies
Two different paths
Two different points of connection

Fleeing
Eyes closed
chased by a philosophy
Rather than a lion
I think I’d prefer the lion

Like ash in my mouth
Like battery acid in my veins
Skidding along the ground
Metal on metal
The burnout

The smell of liquor in your breath brings me dread
Mixed with a low passion deep in my belly
I know that you’ll lick me extra nice
But also lie to me, be inconsistent, and in no way like the person I created in my head for you

Clovers
Bike tires
Gravel

Paint
Rocks
Good cooking

You knew **** well how I felt.. but you still said you wished I’d told you

When I ground myself in reality sometimes it’s jarring
I’m talking to myself, I’m alone in my own head
Sometimes it feels like everyone I’ve ever known is in there

I hold the knife,
I always hold the knife
Ready to cut

For being raised by a misogynist I have some really ******* large claws

You thought that I’d forgive you
When you slipped through the night like a black handkerchief in the wind
When you held your lips tight

But I didn’t

Putting iron stints in my sides to stand up alone

Someone’s wearing a cologne that I’ve smelt and I don’t know where

I've let my body get so used I don't even want to touch myself anymore
My skin is not mine it is for anyone who wants it
My thighs are not the miraculous limbs that I owe my many great travels to, they are only miles of skin that begs to be touched.
My hair is not silk to cascade over my ears and frame my face, it's purpose is to be wrapped around your fingers and yanked.
Every ripple of pleasure
is a disguise for my disgust, the worthless feeling of being nothing more than a pretty new toy.
You do not worship me but you worship my ability to rip an ****** from your body.
You leave me used and abused in more ways than one
and just like a pretty new toy,
after you play with me
I become as worthless to you
as I have become to myself.

This book seems to be devoted to you
your mention graces almost every page
but it isn't
it's devoted to me
to my growth
and to my feelings

i hope that you don't hold a grudge against my selfish heart
we all have our self-sustaining behaviors
i hope you can eventually see it the way i saw it even if you also see all of the err, the same err i drown myself in when i feel low

but in order to get to the places you want, sometimes you have to pull some strings
you were just another person that i ran over in my unclear path of (de)construction
i didnt mean to treat you like a marionette -even if im sure thats what it feels like in your heart
i guess behind my own eyes i am a demanding puppet master that uses real human beings as her toys