I am almost 20 years old and I have never been in a relationship.
My soul is just too sacred,
my mind is too powerful,
my heart is too golden
to let it be touched
by anyone with impure intentions.
I involuntarily flinch every time a guy grows close to me emotionally –
Don’t take it personally,
It’s not you. It’s me.
It’s a natural impulse of mine to fear attachment to any human being.
After spending my entire existence watching my mom be dominated by a man who believes he is in control of her every word, breathe, movement and action.
I’ve had no choice but to sit back idly,
as he knocks on the bathroom door until his knuckles bleed just to get to her on the other side who was likely glaring at her reflection attempting to collect the remains of her sanity.
After reliving the aftermath on the daily –
Nobody can ever tell me,
nor dare to attempt to convince me,
that I owe anyone an apology for refusing to grant them access to me.
Mark my words, after all I’ve observed –
I will be damned if I ever dare allow a man to have the audacity to label me as his property.
I will never owe anyone an apology for openly,
enunciating the words to him thoroughly.
“I belong to me.”
This,should be common knowledge.
But common sense is unfortunately,
far from common.
Ignorance is caressed with open arms far too often.
out of all the vulnerable words
I release into the galaxy –
you won’t ever hear me say sorry.
Especially not when I’ve had men old enough to be my father verbally harass me,
broad daylight in the streets of the insomniac city –
with what it supposedly deemed to be complimentary.
Uncomfortably whispering in my ear,
Baby, come here…
I must admit –
after I unlearned what this society had previously taught me.
I was able to recognize that I have
have more to offer than my thick thighs and a 36C sized chest.
Yes, even then…
I am so much more than a body.
I am a mind, heart, soul, spirit,
with passion, ambition, and intriguing intellect.
don’t ever be surprised that I refuse to
ever settle for less than the absolute best.
Keeping it real,
nothing has ever fueled me more than striving for the impractical.
That’s why my standards are ridiculously high
and I insist on being unbareably high maintenance.
It’s unhealthy but I only ever ache to make love with the impossible.
I only crave what’s forbidden,
human interaction, affection, love, and attention.
It’s evident that the environment I was raised in –
is entirely to blame for my unconscious quivering hands,
shaky knees, and crippling social anxiety.
I’d love to understand the deeper
physcology as to why
despite my expectations,
I just can’t resist the temptation
but to fall for a guy who settled for her, over me…
and is content with
letting me be his second choice
Just in case.
Like, I’m not a priority.
When I should be. When I am.
Even on the days he’s intertwining his soul
with some girl who will never love him as much as me,
I will still keep myself up past 3
bleeding on my satin bed sheets,
composing poetry about him,
that he’ll never even read.
Maybe I just love it when people hurt me.
Because negativity fuels me.
Hatred amplifys me.
Caressing pain with open arms is the only way I know how I survive.
I grew up learning to believe I was supposed to tolerate abuse because
if a man loves you,
He’ll tell you that the door is always open for you to go,
But once you’ve finally had enough and your bags are finally packed –
He’s contradicting himself, holding you back
Go ahead and leave –
You will never find someone who will “love you like me.”
if a man cares about you –
he will immerse you in the twisted art of reverse physcology.
Manipulating you into believing being emotionally traumatized
is a confirmation of his love for you.
I was convinced by the age of 5 that romance was alive when my mom would
call the police past midnight,
only to open the door when they arrive with bruised eyes
and a voice behind her back
telling her to say
“Nothing’s wrong officer, I overreacted”.
I was convinced that love was staying
despite him having yet another
yet Another bipolar tantrum.
Exhibiting yet another instance of domestic violence.
But love is supposed to make you feel like you can’t breathe, right?
When my dad had his arms gripped around her neck.
It confirmed the answer to be yes.
Love is supposed to make you feel like your suffocating anyway, isn’t it?
Little me remembers,
She will never forget
asking, “Mommy When are you going to leave daddy?”
Please Don’t cry.
Let’s start packing our bags right now.
Let’s just runaway from home and never look back.
I don’t know if you have ever known it be real in your life
just look at me
When you need a reminder
Or if you ever forget
What real love is supposed to feel like.