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,
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.
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,
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