Long time, no talk to...
So, I've done it. I'm at a point where I seriously don't need sex, or false love to feel good. I'm so... free I suppose is the best world. I no longer care what boys think when they look at me. Fuck them if I look fat, fuck them if my face isn't clear enough for them, fuck them if I use words that are to big for them. I'm done dumbing myself down so they feel better about themselves. If you can't take me, you don't deserve me. Anyway, I had a fair amount of time to myself Friday, what with no school and all that I had some time to write. Granted it's not my best work, but I feel good about it. I don't know what to call it quiet yet, but here it is. Feel free to leave constructive criticism, I've got tough skin and an open mind.
Cheers!
When I was 15 I got down on my knees
because he said I would if I loved him.
What did i know then?
When I first betrayed my body
sold it for a kiss and a smile, thoughts
to please at any cost.
I was left to fight for independence on the back seats of cars
with stained leather interiors,
dank with the smell of expectation.
I traded integrity for security
and called it love,
leaving behind pieces of my shell...
so exposed to all the wrong people.
Then Mother patted my head and asked,
“Where’s that nice boy you used to date?”
as I pushed memories farther down,
trying to find my knight in shining armor,
scraping already skinned knees as I tried not to bleed out.
No, I’m fine... just a little tired
No, I’m fine... it’s just the stress of overachievement.
No, I’m fine.... but thanks for the offer.
I bit the apple in confusion and
abandoned my innocence at the tree of knowledge
becoming as bitter as the fruit I could not refuse
chocking on the seeds that are still in my stomach.
Time and again,
giving in,
giving up,
waiting.
Always wanting something more than pickup lines.
Looking for something that promised more than promiscuity
I clothed myself in false hopes
enclosing my weariness in their arms that weren’t meant for my love
It never took more than anno gratiae.
Cars turned into fold-out couches
to beds with discarded towels,
and I heard myself say no, No, NO!
Over. And. Over.
Through the lust
he pinned me down, called me a ‘ho
and took the only innocence I had ever kept for myself.
And even then, I was searching for purity.
I traded innocence for bold, brazen offerings.
hips swinging,
lips pouting,
pills popping,
and I learned how to control.
I was that women despised as they begged
for clean plastic perfection found in the temptation
inches from their faces.
I could feel the longing,
the lies when they said
you’re so beautiful.
But it wasn’t enough;
because he loved money more than me,
and she loved prayer more than me,
and he loved her more than me,
and he loved sex more than me,
and I loved them more than me!
I laid my body down in the places where I thought love hid
in the times that I thought it was real.
We paint ourselves in what we think are colors of the rainbow
because we think we are hidden that way
when we’re really cloaked in hips, and lips
and brutal realities that leave us grasping out
at the tatters of the illusions of love and longings,
at the shattered shreds of innocence.
Until we wear our own colors and
part the curtains on our mirrors of mourning....
Until we look ourselves in the eyes and say
with the conviction of Isis
I am beautiful
no amount of love will fit right.
Cheers!
When I was 15 I got down on my knees
because he said I would if I loved him.
What did i know then?
When I first betrayed my body
sold it for a kiss and a smile, thoughts
to please at any cost.
I was left to fight for independence on the back seats of cars
with stained leather interiors,
dank with the smell of expectation.
I traded integrity for security
and called it love,
leaving behind pieces of my shell...
so exposed to all the wrong people.
Then Mother patted my head and asked,
“Where’s that nice boy you used to date?”
as I pushed memories farther down,
trying to find my knight in shining armor,
scraping already skinned knees as I tried not to bleed out.
No, I’m fine... just a little tired
No, I’m fine... it’s just the stress of overachievement.
No, I’m fine.... but thanks for the offer.
I bit the apple in confusion and
abandoned my innocence at the tree of knowledge
becoming as bitter as the fruit I could not refuse
chocking on the seeds that are still in my stomach.
Time and again,
giving in,
giving up,
waiting.
Always wanting something more than pickup lines.
Looking for something that promised more than promiscuity
I clothed myself in false hopes
enclosing my weariness in their arms that weren’t meant for my love
It never took more than anno gratiae.
Cars turned into fold-out couches
to beds with discarded towels,
and I heard myself say no, No, NO!
Over. And. Over.
Through the lust
he pinned me down, called me a ‘ho
and took the only innocence I had ever kept for myself.
And even then, I was searching for purity.
I traded innocence for bold, brazen offerings.
hips swinging,
lips pouting,
pills popping,
and I learned how to control.
I was that women despised as they begged
for clean plastic perfection found in the temptation
inches from their faces.
I could feel the longing,
the lies when they said
you’re so beautiful.
But it wasn’t enough;
because he loved money more than me,
and she loved prayer more than me,
and he loved her more than me,
and he loved sex more than me,
and I loved them more than me!
I laid my body down in the places where I thought love hid
in the times that I thought it was real.
We paint ourselves in what we think are colors of the rainbow
because we think we are hidden that way
when we’re really cloaked in hips, and lips
and brutal realities that leave us grasping out
at the tatters of the illusions of love and longings,
at the shattered shreds of innocence.
Until we wear our own colors and
part the curtains on our mirrors of mourning....
Until we look ourselves in the eyes and say
with the conviction of Isis
I am beautiful
no amount of love will fit right.