Tuesday 22 April 2014 @ 02:35  0 stares
I once wrote poetry for a boy who didn't care about genuine words strung together on a delicate silver chain. He tore it apart, ripped it in shreds. And for some foolish reason, I was okay with that.

Not anymore.

I've come to realise that I deserve better. I deserve a boy who didn't find my thoughts silly or juvenile. Perhaps I deserve nothing, - but I certainly did not deserve a boy who ran penknives across portraits I painted with my own hands.

I was foolish, I admit. But I am not bitter. Maybe I was, for half a second. Wouldn't you, if you were deceived into believing sugarcoated lies? Lies which at one point made your heart bloom because all you saw was the trap, the beautiful trap. Those were the lies I played in my head on long, lonely nights to make me feel better. They were the soundtrack of my days. I would never have guessed that they were pernicious seeds which would grow into ivy, creeping and entwining within my mind- I was ensconced in poison and  realised too late. But I am not bitter. I know better.

Things have a way of working out. I did ask for it. I wished so hard to have someone, anyone lend validity to my existence. In some ways he fulfilled that but he largely left an empty space where my heart should be.

I did give him everything. Now I want it all back.

God knows I didn't deserve to hurt.