i left my eyes in your hands again,
and found them smashed when i came back for them.
there are worse things than not seeing,
like how i came from being ignorant to suddenly informed
on this what you call "not cheating"
and i call "bullshit".
it was like i somehow knew that you would do this to me after all,
and that no matter how hard i try to get you to love me,
i'm still the girl with pigtails and four eyes
that fall for the impossible boys
and you're still an impossible boy.
i want to scream and cry and punch holes into walls
[like overbearing-father, like dearly-demented-daughter]
cause this must be how it feels to be ripped apart
when you finally think you're whole again,
and your words and your apologies
and your seemingly-innocent eyes won't be the magic bandaid
that pieces all of my confetti heart back together.
i need stitches and glue and tape and quite possibly, not you.
and now i don't know what to believe,
cause you're changing your story every twenty seconds.
this must be how it feels to be obliterated,
to finally put down the walls
just to be invaded by the enemy.
if i remember anything from history,
it's not to accept trojans behind your walls.
i guess that counts for boys, too.
if you were anyone else,
this wouldn't hurt as much.
love, love, do you really love me
cause you seem to throw that word around like loose change
and you can beg me all you want,
but mine has meaning and maybe that's what you can't handle.
am i simply hanging onto a corpse or swinging on one?
could you please tell me?
because whatever answer you give,
i know it's the opposite one.
© Copyright 2012 J. Linds (UN: jessicaconk at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved.
J. Linds has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
|Log In To Leave Feedback|