The terms and conditions of loving the unloveable:

Participate at your own risk. The problem with loving a dream is that it is a two player game and you are the only one with dice to roll. 

1 and 5. They will tell you they love you in black and white, with mottled colour on ivory skin.

3 and 2. They will tell you that you are beautiful and then let you go.

6 and 6. Your face met with the devil’s fist. You will give your love to a loveless being and they will say thank you with a few broken bones and muffled excuses in only an emergency. In case of an emergency please dial 4. Please dial 4, please dial 4. They will smoke cigarettes as your shaking hands reach up for their face and they will tell you to clean up the blood in the kitchen, in the kitchen, “get in the kitchen”.

You roll again.

6 and 6. Your face met with the devil’s fist. Your hands bound and blood running down your wrists. Please dial 4, please dial 4. He will change, of course he will.

Roll Again.

6 and 12. A third dice to make the game and he will hurt you again and again and again.

The unloveable.

They are not made for lovers hearts or lovers eyes or the morning kiss of a weary child. They are made to hurt and they are made to bleed through the look in their eyes and the names they call you, through the destruction of skin on skin and the idea that anything pure in life must be a ******* sin.

you say you love me

but do you ever stop to look

how you love me

how do you do

if that’s how to

declare me unlovable 

for I rather be unloved 

than loved by you

were so fat,
maybe,
our gravitational pull,

will make someone orbit around us,
and fall in love with us,

because who could love us,
If we don't even love us,

So just maybe,
Someone will orbit around us,
and not the pantry's continents,

I never wanted you to leave
I only hide in my room
Because I don't want you to see
The real me

The girl who's always lying
Putting make up on
Making herself look
Like she's a different person each time

But if I take my make up off
You would see the real me
And I don't want that

You get to wear make up
But I can't?

I'm not doing anything wrong
So what if it's not the real me

The real me is ugly
The fake me is beautiful

So don't tell me
I don't need make up
Until you
Stop wearing yours

Don't give me advice
About what works and what doesn't
Until you start following it yourself

I look in the mirror
It all begins with foundation
That is
The spirit that cries out inside

Sometimes we have to be a little fake
To get some people to love us
Or we would have nobody

I'd love to listen to your words which build me up
But try to do it
Without tearing me down

You know what?

I genuinely believe that I am unlovable.

Not even in the self-pitying way, I just have thought about it and I really think that no one could ever truly love me.

I have too many flaws that get in the way.

If I am imperfect then I can't be perfect enough for them

If I am perfect then I am not the quirky beautifully rare girl they want

I am too violent and weird

I am too hateful and grudging

And the worst part is

I don't even WANT to stop being violent and weird or hateful or grudging

I wish someone would love me for it

because I love those who are deadly loyal, absurd, not afraid of a little violence (not abusive, just to be clear. I do not support that) those who hate things because the more passionately they hate, the more passionately they love as well. And someone who holds a grudge actually cares about things. I would love a boy who was all those things but no guy wants a girl who can't let go of things and spends all her time muttering to herself about how worthless and ugly she is because that has become my hobby I don't even realize I am doing it sometimes.

I just don't think anyone could ever really truly fall in love with me.

That makes me kind of sad I guess... :(

I fell in love with a girl who decided she could not handle me at my worst.
Because when she was falling apart in my arms it was different,
And when I tried to fall apart it was just terrifying.
I have no space to come undone like that.

But tell me, darling, if it doesn't hurt than do you even love?
Where is the solace if there is no pain?
Can you really be in love if you are not scared of falling?
Does it mean nothing to you at all?

I once told someone that the poison in my veins was too strong,
I am the reason that no one can stay.
Even though I so desperately need someone.
Perhaps I save lives this way.

But it is not my fault you were scared of me,
And I am sorry that you prefer something surface level.
Perhaps that will be your place,
Because I told you I was ocean tides wrapped in skin.
You told me that you loved me anyway.

If my love wasn't what I wrote it to be, neither was yours.