I guess I still cry. The wound is still open and wide, unlike I thought. I thought it was gone, just a scar. But I was wrong. All it takes is to shame and rebelittle me like you've always done now.
Since I left, I've gotten better. I've been feeling so happy. Why did you have to rip it away from me again, like you've always done. It's my fucking birthday and I'm crying over a message you sent.
Go fuck yourself, if you aren't already head deep up your own ass.
-From the person who was never your daughter, not even family.
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This is not based on my real emotions but is heavily inspired by alleged real events. ⚠️
I'm kidding it did happen and that is exactly how I felt at 12-3 am crying on my birthday.
Then I woke up and realized I am loved by others who appricate me for who I am and actually know me and don't compare me to a past version of me that was only a child. Anyways, if the person who sent me the message sees this. Go fuck yourself, but also get your head out of your ass and get the fuck away from him. That's a warning. I know they'll never see this even if they follow me.
Ps. I forgive you but you know the sun doesn't shine if your six feet up his -
I'm going to stop now.
YOU ARE READING
Life Beneath The Words At Play
PoesíaMy poetry is only to fill blank pages. You decide how to color it in. That meaning, you can interpret the poems the way you want. I only put the words together, and you decide the rest :) Yet another poem dump for my unorganized mess that is my poe...
