What would we do without epiphanies?

As a girl I would have been able to put you in your place.

The older I got the more insecure I became until I had

To pick myself up for good. I saw something in you that

Wasn’t there, that couldn’t be fixed. The time that I’ve wasted.


Meaningless conversations, ridiculous misunderstandings.

And you were so fragile and defensive. You’d burst. The most

Mundane things would make you explode. I had known that kind

Of violence. It felt like home. Why are we so twisted and nonsensical?


There was no substance in the talks we had, I tried to put

Flesh on the bone, but I’d always sell myself short, idealise and

Project the best onto people until I got blindsided and disappointed.

It just never works, ignoring the bad stuff, legitimising it, the things

That cut you one slice at a time. And the fleeting moments of pseudo-harmony

Numb you and let you lie to yourself a little bit longer.


There was nothing these boys could do well.

It was all in my head, my imagination.

I recreated them, daydreamed and paid the price.

Thank you for the issues, Daddy. I put them on a fucking

Pedestal, these rotten boys with no education, no culture,

No intellect, no ambition, no passion, no wit, not one fibre

Of love, devotion and respect in their bodies.


And they enchanted all the girls. And they’d all betray each other.

Boys mattered the most. The centre of the fucking universe.

I should have done my homework.

Girls waking up three hours before school to get ready

And they’d barely get out of bed in time.

Those are the gender scales.

Boys, present. Girls, perfect.

I wish I could have turned my back on them and told

Them to shove their Playboy expectations up their asses.

And still, careless, arrogant and incompetent.


I wish that I hadn’t abandoned my ideals of love so very early.

I wish I’d held on to my own beliefs, to my own world.

Not listened to the stupidities of shallow girls with parents

That would fix every single tiny problem that they brought on themselves.

I wish I had looked at my body without imprinting the ones from other girls on it.

I wish I hadn’t given in to shame and guilt.


I wish I had never started to believe that I had been unworthy of love.

Becoming an empty vessel, a made-up sad fucking doll with sex written on her face.

I wish I could have been free in everything that I did.


I always had a talent for choosing the wrong people around me.

I could never stick around for long.

But it had always been intense. Yes, in the worst ways.

I’d disappear.

I’d rather take the pain of having been damaged by them

Than being a constant part of their lives.

beautiful woman in black suit jacket
Photo by Ichad Windhiagiri on Pexels.com



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