You take advantage of me.

Because you think that I’ve never heard the sentence “I love you”.

You think I don’t know true from false.

You call me a little girl.

I won’t let that be an insult. Not to me.

 

She is all I have.

Everything you will never discover, never be able to love and appreciate.

Because you think of her as weak. As objectifiable. As a plaything.

You’re shooting your darts into her heart.

I hold her tight. I have her on my side.

 

Never will I forget her again.

On forlorn parking lots. After midnight hours. When the sun rises in forests.

On cheap car seats. Through the window. Out of sight.

Out of touch.

And you are so certain you won.

 

The winner of separation.

What is it now? Solitude? Who raised you in their image?

We are corrupted in the hope of love.

And you, the juggler of knives, blood on your lips,

Have never put yourself in a woman’s skin, a girl’s, you coward.

 

I stand on her shoulders and maybe she sees it the other way around.

And we stand tall.

Modesty is not required; we had to climb higher, it was harder.

Harder to be seen, harder not to be depreciated. Mocked. Put on the spot. Humiliated.

And yet here we are, look up.

They say you should never look directly at the sun.

Dante_Gabriel_Rossetti_-_Christina_and_Frances

“Christina Georgina Rossetti; Frances Mary Lavinia Rossetti (née Polidori)” by Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828-1882)

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: