May 2015
Part I - She and Her and The Shadow of She/Her.
Her soul, blanketed with strings of bittersweet memories of love,
picks daisies and puts it into the pouch on her left sleeve.
The daisies wilt.
At the scent of her self pity.
She is in touch with the moon and connects every constellation with the tip of her index finger and feels she doesn’t belong to the place where she is right now.
She feels unenlightened yet aesthetic.
She has an inconspicuous connection with anything and everything that isn’t
loved/understood by everyone.
Or maybe she feels they all have
one thing in common.
They’re all,
Unlovable.
Part II - (Illusion of/False) Hope
The feeling is curable.
Maybe someone needs to reveal from the horizon during the
green flash before the
be dazzling sunset
someone who ‘just’ needs to make her feel special, not even ubiquitously. Someone who would reach out their hand when she’s drowning in negativity.
Maybe she’s better off alone.
All she’s ever done is live vicariously/bottled up her feelings and self loath her precious self.
People stomping on her broken heart held together with double stitches and incisions, walking all over her, using her, breaking her trust, treated like she has no feelings whatsoever.
People replacing her.
Her dreams thrown out the window, shattering the glass and her dreams. The shards stained with the blood of her unfulfilled dreams is a constant reminder that no one is going to support her.
People leaving her, with deep seated scars and etching memories in the depths of her heart. These people are not mere strangers crossing paths on the boardwalk, they are the people who mean/meant the whole universe to her.
There is no shoulder for her to cry/lean on and rest her weary head.
No arms to encompass her feeble frame.
No hand which will fill the gap in between, her fingers.
Desperate calls rattling back as desperate echoes.
She has everything and nothing.
She has everyone and no one.
She’s alone. She’s used to it.
But every once in a while,
she wishes
she had someone who would
make her feel loved and
she’s worth it.
special.
Her soul, blanketed with strings of bittersweet memories of love,
picks daisies and puts it into the pouch on her left sleeve.
The daisies wilt.
At the scent of her self pity.
She is in touch with the moon and connects every constellation with the tip of her index finger and feels she doesn’t belong to the place where she is right now.
She feels unenlightened yet aesthetic.
She has an inconspicuous connection with anything and everything that isn’t
loved/understood by everyone.
Or maybe she feels they all have
one thing in common.
They’re all,
Unlovable.
Part II - (Illusion of/False) Hope
The feeling is curable.
Maybe someone needs to reveal from the horizon during the
green flash before the
be dazzling sunset
someone who ‘just’ needs to make her feel special, not even ubiquitously. Someone who would reach out their hand when she’s drowning in negativity.
Maybe she’s better off alone.
All she’s ever done is live vicariously/bottled up her feelings and self loath her precious self.
People stomping on her broken heart held together with double stitches and incisions, walking all over her, using her, breaking her trust, treated like she has no feelings whatsoever.
People replacing her.
Her dreams thrown out the window, shattering the glass and her dreams. The shards stained with the blood of her unfulfilled dreams is a constant reminder that no one is going to support her.
People leaving her, with deep seated scars and etching memories in the depths of her heart. These people are not mere strangers crossing paths on the boardwalk, they are the people who mean/meant the whole universe to her.
There is no shoulder for her to cry/lean on and rest her weary head.
No arms to encompass her feeble frame.
No hand which will fill the gap in between, her fingers.
Desperate calls rattling back as desperate echoes.
She has everything and nothing.
She has everyone and no one.
She’s alone. She’s used to it.
But every once in a while,
she wishes
she had someone who would
make her feel loved and
she’s worth it.
special.
