I’m wounded, really wounded.
You hurt me, I don’t know how I let you do it to me.
I’m broken.
I’m not really sure where you cracked me.
I can remember it and forgot all at once.
You knew to keep it a secret so it wouldn’t die fast but you didn’t think of what to do if I found out anyways. It’s not that it's a new beginning for you it's just a false advertisement blockaded by empathy and sympathy.
The propaganda was together maybe but it wasn’t you baby.
Sometimes I wish you did not exist. You don’t understand and you never will.
I don’t see the point.
My heart shaped letter pumping in my chest holds all the details.
The lettering is scorched black by the flame you lit by mistake.
I no longer see the light. You follow mistaken trends, I liked you a lot.
Why do I always set my self up like this?
I’m always the other girl, the girl they date on the down low, or the ones guys are willing to fight over but won’t claim. And I thought you couldn’t call a rose by any other name.
With every rose there are thorns and one of my thorns is my only ounce of joy.
Thank you for letting the white and sorrow re-approach me and crack the piece, crack the ruby complexion porcelain piece of my soul called my heart.