You abused me till it became amusing, time-consuming, hopelessly bruised, and that's when it hit me. You left me I had no control just some post stick notes on the bedroom wall, and that's when it hit me. You consumed me till I could no longer see, forgetting how to swim, you all … Continue reading that’s when it hit me
Instead of anger show me love comfort me when I am no longer able to see Instead of bitterness give me hugs, tell me its ok to wait, its ok to be cautious. Instead of anger, that you rage down on me, give me space and time to let me breathe, give me … Continue reading Instead of anger show me love.
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that's right, maybe I cant talk to you because you dropped me as soon as you got some, you left me for a man, you dumped me as fast as the pan you burnt your hand on, I told you you cant cook spaghetti! you chucked me because I dont have a cock to satisfy … Continue reading jealous.
and although I hate it, when will we start living again? just so I can have a feud with the bin men. so, I can climb on a stinking bus again, have the glares off tutting wed up and well looked after mothers, times where the pram keeps falling from … Continue reading and although I hate it
nostalgic walls and nostalgic floors clothes cars worn shoes music feel touch nostalgic .
I tried to call you rejected them all that's OK to do that's what you choose to do and that's how you feel.
He liked me as I was and that was extra special, He cared for me for who I was and that was something special, He didn’t even get that cross and that was really special, Or maybe I am lost and that should have all been, normal. Now he is just some ghost a person … Continue reading Special, not so special
I dont know what your mad for, but I wish I did. I wish I could make it better, but only you can do that, who is there for me? If I keep fixing these walls, my therapist he disagrees, She never puts it in to words quite simply, If I could work out the … Continue reading A different rut…
what if I want to strut in my kitchen with no clothes those things called 'bras' surely its my right its my choice to feel sexy and what if I want to wear make up, why cant it be worn for myself? why do you think my looks are for everyone else?
excuses and stories are a way for your mind to escape the truths and the tales, and your scared your fucking frightened, but you shouldn't be if only you could trust in me.
It's like ecstasy running through me heartbeat thumping through my ears, thrilling breathless at the slightest bit of danger turns me on makes it right my mind with so many channels to pick and decide and doors to open exciting, fun breathless, my chest hurts from happy bursts of joy from inside me.