they call me childish and demanding,

needy and commanding,

they think I crave the lust of a man’s lips that have already been taken by another woman,

attention seeker

drama maker….

they think I crave the passion of a man’s hands that are already being held.

When in reality,

I sit here.

with a sound of a pin, 

filling the silence within.

awkwardness tenderly strokes across the skin of his spine.

I know.

I know.

We will never be, ever be,

but they think it’s as clear as it’s seems,

he has no time,

and my poetry makes him anxious,

nauseous,

he’s stuck in a memory that shouldn’t be,

but it used to be,

a baby to a woman he regrets to have set his eyes on.

hoped what had happen would just fade away and be gone,

but a child was born.

they think that I am childish, demanding,

they prise at me like a fork to a tin,

but I don’t give in,

I am a warrior! I am a survivor!

I am not what you think I am!

 

image by chooo-san