I like to think I’m made of secrets. But I’m also a broken faucet, spilling into the hands of the undeserving. I have the worst timing and usually secrets of myself escape me at night.
I feel so deprived of simple things. I crave physical contact from someone who understands when I need it and when I need to feel alone and strong. I crave physical contact from someone who appreciates what I can make them feel after a warm hug, a kiss or just my legs tucked into theirs. But love is too much of a risk and I cannot allow myself being treated like dirt ever again.
Because looking down on me is a self-privilege that I earned throughout the years when I realized how I was stupid and reckless. It’s crying for stress and not sadness. It’s insulting and denying myself. It’s also letting the machine rest so it can work twice as hard tomorrow. It’s also bragging about an ambitious bitch that can see her way out of most situations. It’s also bull-shiting through difficulties while a small voice reassures me that I will survive no matter what.
I tried so that people who love me can love the very best version of me. But it’s futile, because growth is a beautiful, subtle thing that changed the halo one sees into a glaring, blinding light. Icarus can never get close to the sun and so he falls for the sea, which just reflects the sparkling light of the sun and is a bit easier. I hoped he died. I hope anyone who deems fit to deceive me may die under my own hands. How dare they treat me like dirt when they don’t know me? If they don’t suffer the consequences of my stupid acts as I did? I, and only I, am allowed to mistreat myself.
So I want someone to hold and to own in every way. I want someone who craves the touch of my hand, the choke crawling around their neck, the brutal maiming I give their mouth with my unforgiving, hungry teeth. I want someone who has to suffer for me. I don’t want to try but I want to be fought for. And I can leave them, whenever I want. Whenever I feel like I need to put on the façade of an unstoppable force. Whenever I feel that I have to walk the world alone. I want to hurt. Oh so badly. Bad in the common eye.
There is no point believing in justice when you can’t justify your own soul.