You told me we  "accept the love we think we deserve",
and I think of you and all the ways you broke my body, my curves

I was your coloring book , your fists  were the pencils colouring me in,
blue, purple, red, completely branding my skin.


I'd apologise for making you mad,
convincing myself that I was the one who was bad...

but really you were the shooter hunting  me down,
The one holding my head underwater hoping I'd drown.

You told me we "accept the love we think we deserve"
As I sat there reflecting on our "love" with reserve,

What we had wasn't love, it was manipulation
Caused by your irrational fixation