Hope

for my mind is of steel but my heart is of fluff –

simple guilt evolves into something greater,

a “something” that I can never ignore.

Don’t judge, don’t yell, don’t pity,

don’t lie, don’t hide, please –

don’t worry.

Don’t press upon me any hint of guilt

for my heart will beat and multiply the emotion until it’s unbearable,

unforgivingly heavy,

irrationally overwhelming.

Guilt burns this feathered heart,

turning the white muscle into webs of yellow, orange, red –

fire.

And as my insides succumb to flame,

my skin turns a purple only I can see with my watering eyes,

bruised, by the pounding fists of guilt.

Deception to my mind,

makes me feel unworthy of the clothes on my back,

I no longer have claims to my own thoughts,

my own heart –

a traitor unto its own self –

damaging,

burning,

You’re not cute as you think when you call your favs daddy on their social media.

You’re not cute or as funny as you think you are tagging your favs in posts that are sexual, stalkerish, extremely personal or something you should probably talk to a professional about.

You’re not as cute as you think you are following your favs around or stalking them.

Your favs aren’t your SO. They don’t belong to you. They are allowed to date, see, fuck, style, how ever they want.

They aren’t your fucking doll and I don’t care how much of their shit you buy or see.

You’re not cute, funny, a dedicated fan.

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