My Heart Still Asks About You Sometimes
I ache. I cry. I weep like the flowers during a storm when they feel like they’re drowning. I feel like I lost something. A part of me. You stole my purity that I can never get back. You stole the only part of me that I was allowed to keep to myself without being selfish. You took what was mine. You stole the diamond of my body and replaced it with a stone. You made me feel insignificant then like nothing at all. What was I supposed to do when the only thing I could do was sit there and scream for help. I felt betrayed. You ravaged my body like a wolf and felt no remorse.
You told me you loved me. Love is a big word isn't it? The word love makes us feel wanted. It makes us feel safe.
Safe: The Last Thing I Felt.
Love is a terrible word to describe things. Look at what we call love these days. Love is overpriced. Why should I give away my happiness to feel like I belong somewhere? Why should I break myself and feel anything less than whole to get your attention? Love is kind. Love is blind. Then love is the only thing you think about until you're numb because he hurt you and now thinking about love makes you sick. Love is harsh. Love is hurtful. We are so capable of love yet choose to be toxic.
When I think of you, I break down all over again. I think I'm doing great and I hear your name. I hear the grief-stricken murmurs from the devil on my shoulder and try my best to ignore it and listen to the angel on the other side; but what do I do when I hear the scream of the angel when the devil kills her like you did to me? Who do I listen to then? Who can I talk to when the only person I have to talk to is gone? Nobody. I have nobody but my overwhelming thoughts of ending it all. Nobody but my sorrowful pondering in my brain filled with nothing but you as I sit on my bedroom floor and cry my heart out in the sweater that still smells of you.
The Worst Moment: When You Smell Something That Reminds You Of Them
I've thought about it a million times in my head. That's all I think of really. The very moment when you put your hand around my neck and tried to forcefully put your lips against mine.
Consent: A Beautiful Thing.
I always think about how I'll always remember your fingers choking me as I struggle to breathe under your body. The way you hurt me and tore me to pieces. I've come to understand that I'll always hurt from this terrible moment but I also realized something else; there is a difference between somebody telling you they love you and them actually loving you.
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