Why are you the way you are? So much want, all forbidden.
Leave me out of your mindless games.
You call me up and I melt. Melt on the outside with desire,
and melt on the inside with hate. Hate for myself? Hate for you? Hate for the
way things are. Leave me be to wallow and forget, don’t keep reminding me of
why I can’t look my conscience in the eyes.
One week, vivid. Two weeks, images. Three weeks, blurry.
Four weeks, forgotten. That’s all it takes to block the memories, to reject the
ideas of what could have been when you leave. One day, repeated, relapsed. You’re
back.
Am I addicted to you, or the idea of you? A drug? Or just a
childish obsession. You string me around like a puppet and I am unable to fight
my own compliance. Stuck in a glass box, too fragile when played with to rebel.
Just set me down, so I don’t fear breaking, and can gain strength on my own.
There are many of us. Juggled around one at a time. I am the
only one that knows about the others. Does that make me less foolish, or more?
I alone carry the burden of knowledge, and yet I am only good for one thing.
But that’s not enough for me. I won’t be THAT girl.
Find another “change” and another “little bit of excitement”
because I have finally broken out of that glass box. I am not fragile or weak.
I will be able to look at myself without guilt or hatred. I will not fill the
box of stupidity like everyone expects me to. I will no longer be addicted or
hypnotized or controlled.
I know who I am, and I am not THAT girl.
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