this was originally posted on twitter by @HeatherLLove I LOVE THIS.. AND WANNA SHARE IT
We got that waiting in the clinic silence. That shhhh, don’t tell nobody what we did silence and I’m so tired of being your hamper that I’m about to dump out those week old ketchup stained secrets and do laundry in that silence you like keeping it quiet. But my vagina is not your walk in closet. You wanna stuff your unmentionables through me, wanna place to hang up you insecurities, want me to keep check of you hammy downs and prada, waiting for every occassion to put me back behind closed doors in the darkness. Nobody knows you hold my hand. Nobody knows I call you baby. And nobody know you write anonymous poems about me, the type you can’t post on Facebook. Because regardless of what you may think, I’m worth more than what you may think. I deserve. I will never be that girl, the girl only allowed to make you smile when she’s making you orgasm. That girl, whose day job is daydreaming waiting for her night job. That girl, who’s so in love she will turn her body over for your superficial touch. You hide me behind lock doors and bedsheets because if you dare reached out then everybody would still know that it was still about me. So that in your heart and in your mind, you’re still wrapped up in me. My teardrops: you own them. My heart says you got them tied around your pencils and fingers. Yeah, you may say it’s over and you may never tell me that you love me but you don’t have to cause your silence speaks volume. You wanna hold me in your arms, rock me to sleep, then act like you don’t know me. As if the moments we spend together are some kind of down payment. As if my bedroom were lay away and that’s all you ever do is layaway; curl up beside me but in the morning, pull up the hoodie and run the other way. I’m like that bastard child, the reason daddy never stuck around in the first place. But for me, rejection doesn’t come every other weekend; it comes when you lower your head and pass by without speaking and I remember there was a time you could barely take your eyes off me. I just don’t understand why it’s not okay for you to love me. I guess you just want me to be that girl, the girl who everyone wants to sleep with but no one wants to be with. That girl, only good enough for finding a suitable replacement. And not trying to make up for the mistake, but you try to convince yourself that she means everything and you want nothing to do with me but come on baby, she looks just like me. Read the signs or at least, if not, the facial features cause I was your first, your only, the prototype and she’s just a duplicate and you can never make copies without first consulting the blueprint. You know what they say, you know what they say, the sequel is never better than the original. And she tries to write you stories but they’re only half as good. So half squinting, you only hold her half as tight as you should because your other half is tangled between my bed sheets. And your other half is complete within my mind, soul, and body. And your other half is French tonguing me Monday through Friday. I’m not fighting for joint custody. I’m fighting for respect because I will never be content with being your back door hoe, your something on the side, your something during those lonely nights, your closet freak. You will never reduce me to skank and a whore that will love you. I’d rather spend everynight crying alone on my bedroom floor than to ever be “that girl.”
(Source: mycrewdances)
