It’s not that you do not want my love
It’s that you do not want me.
Il me regarde et il me ment
Je me sens comme une enfant devant une vitrine de mensonges
Il me sourit, me noit lorsque je plonge
Je rêve d'une bouffée d'air
Mais je ne respire que l'alcool de ton haleine
Je cours mais ne m'éloigne guère
Me fait me sentir belle
Tout comme les trois autres femmes
Qu'il voit chaque semaine
Je ferme les yeux pour ne pas voir
Mon reflect douloureux, triste dans un miroir
Il oublit de m'appeler le soir, ne préviens pas qu'il rentre ****
Après tout je ne suis que trophée numéro deux,
Je n'ais pas de valeur dans tes yeux
M'emmène en vacances
Il prépare quelque chose, je pense
**** de moi la pensée d'un rêve différent
Je vis ma vis à chaque instant
Tourne la tête quand il comtemple
L'écran de sont téléphone avec passion,
J'évite, je m'invente des raisons
Il ne peut pas partir, ne peut pas s'en aller
Je n'ai même pas eu le temps d'arrêter de l'aimer
N'aura aucune chance
De rentrer dans la danse
Je me suis fais blessée trop de fois pour compter
Je ne survivrais pas une quatrième calamité
I created my own mask when I was 8 and crying in the back of a cab.
2. I had taken for granted the joy and happiness but my eyes were seeing through tears and for the very first time I could not breathe under the weight of the stone placed upon my heart and we were driving away and away
3. When the plane took off I stopped crying
4. I do not remember the next 2 years
5. At age 13, I spent 3 years being bullied. During winter I would hold my forehead against the radiator until it burned and burned and I would tell my parents I wasn’t feeling well. They would let me stay home by myself and I would feel such relief at not having to see the people who hurt me. I would end my days in my room hugging my frame and reminding myself I am worth something.
6. At age 16 I took my bag full of my broken self-esteem and destroyed self-worth and left the continent to get a chance at mending myself.
7. It has been years but I still feel worthless sometimes.
8. When I come back to the place where it all took place I get mad. The adults who were supposed to protect me just looked at me down with pity and the family that should have been there for me did not understand that I was not being dramatic this time, Dad, and perhaps the saleswoman skills you praise me for were acquired while bargaining for my life you know nothing. I hid all the places where they broke me under a mask that fit so well over my face I do not know how to get it off. It fits so well you never realized it isn’t me, Dad, Mom, you know something is wrong. I see you staring with wariness when I get lost in thought, my hand creating waves in the wind from the open window of the backseat of your car, but you never say anything.
9. Even if you did speak to me, I wonder what I would be able to explain. I cannot even speak clearly to my psychiatrist.
10. I try. Isn’t it enough to try ?
11. The mask does not come off, not for you, not for him, not for anyone. Not even for myself. I wonder if I will ever see my real face again.
Spoken word is the only thing that drives me to the breaking point because all the words, all the feelings that are trapped inside my soul are somehow released into the air and linger around for people to breathe in
it is not as hard as I usually feel like it is to be
connected to people
we are all moved by the same poets who dare to come up on stage and bare their feelings
it drives me mad
That only in that specific place can I become who I wish to be
It is hard
to blend in
with the people whose soul are not rooted in their bodies as deeply as others
and to think they never wonder about things like
why whales have no ears but can listen to their partner across thousands of miles
bumblebees are impossible and yet wander the Earth like nothing is wrong.
I wonder if it’s easier to stay rooted to the earth with little thoughts that never make you want to touch the sky rather than be weighed down by feelings and too heavy to fly no matter how hard you try to leave.
Often I feel like people do not realize I am smarter than they think. Perhaps not in the way I handle math problems or in the way I act out.
But in the way I observe and listen when they believe I am not.
The way I take notice of things and keep that in mind for the next time, and the way I see what makes them tick, what makes them uncomfortable and where to hit to hurt.
I tend to know and knowledge is power, but it is also restrain.
I have bit my tongue many times to avoid saying something at the right time to hurt just where the skin is soft and the bone is fragile.
I am a demon with a sword but all they see is a dumb young girl. Sometimes I wish I could show them my ****** teeth as I rip them to shreds right where the wound is red and raw and too often scratched by words. I could rip it open all over again, and you would not see me coming.
You would never expect me.
It is my blessing and my curse;
I wish to hurt to relieve my own pain but I have been wounded so many times I cannot inflict a blow to somebody else
Though I long to bare my claws and rip out the goody-two-shoes so you may see the monster beneath.
I wanted a love that didn't want me
When will I get to say
Being alone is no longer nice.
Being alone makes me feel lonely.
I never used to feel lonely.
And now that I do,
I just want to be able to say