His pale eyes pick up details
as I fuss with my jacket. It needs another button. She knows her coat needs another button. But, she'll wear it anyway, and fidget with it every windy day. He sways next to the history books and smiles, like a kindred willow I've known before. I think she's confident. I think he's kind.
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I was always the monster.
With loving glances and tender hands, I was always the monster. I shared my aspirations, goals we had created, warm soft blankets, no hesitation, Yet I was the defamation. A pyorrhea of bearable fruit, unconditional love that I expressed to you, but I was only a monster. Out to get you. Out to get you. Through the dirty dishes, and some father’s drunken wishes, you saw me as your battlefield of contempt, sneaking over fences just to get you. Just to get you. Now, the attempts are gone. The flame, snuffed. Is that enough to show you I’ve never been out to get you? |
AuthorMolly Roland is a writer by nature, and she enjoys stepping over the invisible lines society loves to draw. Categories |