This is a personal documentation through poetry.
I am learning to look inward now, give myself love when I least want to. I do not live to love others, I live to love myself. I will find and create what is enough for me, and you will learn to let it...
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It is rare that I am a decent woman. Not in the sense of nudity, but rather humanity. Politeness comes easy for a woman under someone's shoe, and tears come even easier with the doormat she's become. But decency does not lace my heart like it used to. I have gotten harder, like my organs filled themselves with pebbles. Why should I be allowed to love someone this way? There should be no recovery for a tough start like this. I am unkind to myself, So do not expect me to think kindly of you. A woman's indecent heart is only capable of so much. Eventually I will tear open, Out will pour rocks. You will lose your balance and I will watch you fall. You'll tell me you love me anyways. You always say it anyways.
