When I imagine myself being loved. I imagine two types of lovers.
The compassionate, artistic one that likes to portray be in all of his artwork. The one that loves me even with all the mistakes I'll make. The one that touches me as if I'm a fool made of glass and he'd never think of hurting me, even when I make him angry.
The other is the angry one. The one that likes to decorate my body with a smooth mixture of blood and bruises. I think about him frequently. I think he actually exist and in my mind I deserve him. I know that I'm fragile and weak-minded, naive enough to believe anyone who says they love me. This lover isn't much of a lover at all. He likes to say sorry. Everyone who's ever hurt me loves the word Sorry. I'm immune to sorry, but that doesn't stop him from saying it. He'll use me and my body and I'll hate it, but that's my worth.
I want to be with the compassionate and artistic one, but I always think I ending up serving the angry lover. I feel as though I've been struggling my entire life, so it must not be hard to continue that. I don't know. But I hope I learn to appreciate myself and my journey before I even think about dating or loving. When I love, I love hard. And I never let go.
YOU ARE READING
Woman.
PoésieA book of poems and feelings. A book from a girl, a rose from the concrete. A Woman growing.
