WiltedArrow

I don't fall in love with reality. I fall in love with the false idea I develope of who my crush could be. I shape him to my views, tell myself I don't love him for his looks, I love him for his personality and intelligence. What I fail to remember is, in reality, none of that exists. He is merely a boy I once saw.

I've built a wall surrounding my heart don't tell me to tear it down

It's made of all the people who have left like leaves blowing on the ground

There are spaces reserved for those who promised never to walk away

Because promises are always broken, people never stay

I've sharpened my tongue to carve words of pain

They are the knights that stand guard

And when people try and knock me down

They build the wall up again

There are plenty people who leave

My wall will become infinite

My heart is an abandoned castle

With a single throne on which I sit

I will rule with an iron fist, and iron locks and iron gates

Because when I was first told I was incapable of love

I became the Goddess of Hate.

My body and I have a love-hate relationship.

And by that, I mean, my body loves me. It works tirelessly to keep my heart beating; my lungs inhaling, and exhaling; my bones and muscles working together to move, to dance.

That very heartbeat, that my body so graciously gave itself to provide is the same heartbeat I try and hide when I near someone I love, for fear of being vulnerable; those very lungs that softy inflate and deflate, that are the source of the oxygen that courses through my body and to my brain after a crisp morning run, are the same lungs I take advantage of and abuse, in hopes one day they will stop doing their job; those bones, are the same bones that are left abandoned, awaking with a creak when I finally pull myself out of the warm embrace of my bed on a cold winters morning. Those muscles that pick me up when my bones are too unfit for the job at hand, are the same muscles that ache at the thought of a presentation, or school, or life.

My body loves me so much it gives it's all every day just to keep me alive, but I wish my body knew, it's not my body I hate, it's this life it's pulling me through.

This is for the 1 am's

Not for the rowdy teenagers causing trouble.

For the drunks drinking themselves to forget the people who have left.

And for me finally letting the tears held for you fall.

This is for the 2 am's

Not for the restful silence of the happy streets

This is for the isolated joy in our laughs when the sad in others awakes. We would always pity them.

This is for the 3 am's

I wonder what you would say if you knew my sad had woken.

That now I sit empty lunged on the edge of the bed knowing that in only a couple hours I will have to sit beside your empty desk.

With a steel mask.

Because only at 4 am

When the others rest

At 1am I woke up screaming after encountering one of the worst nightmares I had experienced.

But at 6am I looked at the clock and the realization that I had 2 exams in less then 3 hours seemed far more frightening.

Activities that used to bring joy, are now merely drainers of energy.

Songs and poems that used to fill my mind with excited wonder, are now merely noise.

My lungs that breathe, my heart that beats, once alive, now merely survives.

I cannot say I am familiar with unwanted stares and frivolous remarks from inferior strangers.

For, the stone mask that many women are only learning now to put on, I have been wearing since before I was aware enough to know why.

I have never, nor will I ever cower towards unworthy people who demand my respect.

My footsteps will echo like thunder, my gaze will shatter their ice cold demeanours, and my words will sting like lightning.

Confidence is a weapon, and for the innocent it does not portray harm. But the prowlers, they cower, for as they feast off the weak, they fear the strong.