I find it hard to write these days because I've found that lately, I feel little to no pain.
When I was a shell of a girl, the words flowed so much better from my fingertips.
Now, they come like water from a hose when someone's stepping on it.
I know I should be grateful for my fortune, when all I've known before is hurt, but my newfound joy has ****** my creativity dry.
I guess that this is why I subconsciously try to sabotage my own happiness.
I want to feel pain so I can write again.
I want beautiful words to reflect my lack of self esteem and fear of intimacy.
I want metaphors to bring to life my need to be a starving and broken artist.
The one they romanticise.
The one who makes post traumatic stress disorder look like modern art
Oil on canvas
Scratches on skin from me wanting to shred the spaces where he touched me.
A name of a baby I never had
The apology or closure I'll never receive.
Is that what the people want to read?
Because my happiness just isn't interesting enough