The Lies We Live

used

I'm scared to write this down. Maybe because I know my hands will betray me, and put into words the feelings I would like to incinerate from existence. The thing is, I did not expect kindness to look like this. 

4 hour calls and constant reminders of how beautiful you are. The idea of someone looking at you, and wanting you, in the most intimate way. But I am young and naive; I will mistake this for affection because my inexperience shines through me at every angle. 

I know he can sense this. It makes vulnerability a hard task to accomplish because he will take advantage of it. Weave himself into your heart as he fixes it from the time the last boy broke it. He could make of fun of me, and make me feel like I am nothing to him; he will always be something to me. 

But wanting you for s*x is not an appraisal. It is a sign that maybe he doesn't love you for all the things that you worked so hard all these years to become. The way you laugh at stupid, small things, and the way you talk about the things you love. Maybe if he can't see past his desire, then it is not desire, but a need to have someone that will pleasure the way you would like. 

I'm scared because I am no one. Nothing. A first year trying to ensure job interviews next year. A girl who lives with her parents and regrets the choice everyday. A kid who's supposed to be an adult now, but can't help but cry every time she feels like her small form can not possibly make a mark in a universe that is infinite. 

I learned something interesting today. And perhaps it was directed more to the notion of homosexuality, however it resonated in my mind as well. There is this thing called the double-decker effect. When they say that the urge for another is strong, and that you must fight it at all costs. They say your love for God must overcome your love for that other person. And it does. 

I do not want these secrets to leave his mouth. I don't want him to see me as a slut. Because it will justify his actions when he breaks my heart. "I just did it to get off."  Because I wrote things for you I have only fantasized of. Not with nameless males or celebrities, but with you. 

I am not an object you can use whenever you need a release: you can not make me feel good, and then disappear into the night. Because I do not want to be seen as the girl who was just a good f*ck. And I'm scared that, that is what I have become for you. 

I know you don't like my jokes or my stories. You indulge me because you know there is something in it for you. I will indulge your pleasures because I am so desperate for attention, I will take it from men who won't even treat me as a person. 

Last night, I told you I'd like the idea of kneeling by your side, as you ran your hands through my hair and gave me praise. You laughed and said "like a dog." I opened up to you and this is your reply? But maybe that's because you see me as a dog. Someone that you can make your b*tch. 

The worst part of that notion is that I wouldn't stop you from doing that to me. I remember reading once that "we accept the love we think we deserve." I suppose I do not value myself as a person enough to think I deserve better. 

It is not your fault, however. You are a man and this is what men do. 

You lift me up, only to watch me come crashing to the ground.