You hate it when people see you cry. You can't be weak.
Because you want to be that strong girl. That's not affected by anything.
At the same time though. How is anyone supposed to know.
You hate how nobody notices
You're torn apart.
You're broken.
You're stuck on these strings unable to control yourself.
You have to fit those expectations of you. Do what they want you to do.
You're just a tiny puppet. A rag doll on the floor thrown away when masters done with play.
And he's just your puppeteer.
He.
The one who reminds you. You aren't the girl you wanna be.
He
The tiny voice in your head that won't leave you alone as you stare at those lights trying to stop from crying because it would only disappoint and make you seem worthless and weak because he says you are.
He.
The little puppeteer.
The one who makes you feel these things you aren't allowed to feel. Because he says so.
You hate it when people see you cry. You can't be weak.
Because you want to be that strong girl. That's not affected by anything.
At the same time though. How is anyone supposed to know.
You hate how nobody notices
You're torn apart.
You're broken.
So you cut the strings.
And set yourself free. To cry to laugh to be you. No more hiding behind fake faces and alibis.
YOU ARE READING
Addiction
PoetryA collection of work. I don't know what it is. But it means something. Or Maybe it means nothing. Maybe it's a waste of time A piece of shit Like me Oh love you don't know anything yet
