The only thing I hate more than the butterflies in my stomach is the feeling of vulnerability that comes with your presence.
The way you strip me down to my bones with just a look.
The way you look past the facades so easily.
The way you don't seem to mind that I don't talk about my feelings, or that when you say you love me, I look away.
I hate how you make me want to break down in your arms and let it all out, but that feeling just makes me push you away even more, pull my defenses tighter, build the walls around my heart higher, apologize to you for the trouble I gave you and send you on your way before you see my fifty shades of messed and leave me all alone.
Because the self inflicted cuts hurt less than the accidental paper cuts.
YOU ARE READING
The word spill of a messed up mind.
PoetryAs the title suggests, its basically just a bunch of poems or snippets that pop up in my head. ❤ You are that best selling poetry I never got to write, but could only read and fall in love in love with. ❤
