I have not received a dress based of my tumblr.
I have not received my pin pal.
I have not received my character based off my blog.
I have not received a picture of the book or the wall you wrote my URL on.
I HAVE been lied to.
I never even got that “doot doot”
You’re something like an artist.. Your brown flesh transformed into a paintbrush, your knuckles the bristles .. I, the canvas.. you painting me different hues of purples and blues.
You’re something like a butcher. Your tongue razor-sharp, slicing my insides, leaving my self-esteem as scraps deemed unfit to sell.
You’re something like those guys. You know, the ones that come with a “baby, I love you” and leave with a fistful of hair and a “fuck you, bitch.”
You’re something like a cancer. No chemotherapy in the form of cocaine can flush you from my system. No knife to the wrist can cut you out. You have metastasized.
You say we have that “you can never leave me, I complete you” love.
That “who is going to do the things I can?” love.
That “I hit you yesterday but I still love you” love.
This love produced no happiness, no smiles … just tears and coerced silence.
See, we really have that “hurry up and run upstairs before the lock turns” silence.
That “wear extra makeup to hide the bruises” silence.
That “how can I kill you and make it look like self-defense silence.”
But I’m no longer settling for silence. I’m using the same voice you took from me to spit up the words you force fed me. I’m shouting for everyone to hear, my words deafening, shattering eardrums of all that are near.
I’d be lying if I said
I never loved you,
and every kiss
From the soft, shy first
to the angry, drunk last
You convinced me to fly towards the sun,
though everyone warned me not to,
and as the wax melted from my heart,
I fell into your arms
and drowned in the attention
(ignoring the sting…
i just said hi to someone and they didn’t hear me i’m never trying that again