I can tell that I am so very hurt and I think that
I may never be ready for any such thing
that is termed trust and i cannot say that i am
to miss it. 

You fucking lied to me. You fucking lied. 
you fucking lied to me.
You look me straight up and lied.
you led me on in the dark.
You held my hand.
You led me on in the dark.
you had my heart.

You traitor, you faithless thing
how could you do this?
How could you to me?

What did I do to deserve?
What have I done?
what did I do that deserved? 
What has been done?

What on earth
what on the moon
what in the sky
what of the stars

what made you decide this
you took my heart
my trust, my great feelings
and you ruined them
you’ve destroyed it all
there is so little left

but there is some
some things that are
quite bitter
they are so wounded
by your foul lying

more and more I see
you only saw a face
and it makes me sob to know
that I trusted so completely one
who only saw my form. 

(Source: kheldan)

liar. Filled with a venom of disregard
you have no cunning, no abstinent bone
only passion for the flesh and the uncaring
youthful-amour.

You, a tremor on the precipice
you will slowly decline, not blessed by
beauty or by insight, you will age
and not even eld women
will see a mark of gloried fate
upon your withered, dark palm.

You, a fool with a mouth as a rudder
you will drown yourself, you are no sailor,
with not a talent for the stars nor arithmetic
save only the basest form which
ensures your sensual sanity.

You, a drunken male with a face half-stone
and a heart fully-leaden; you apologize
instead of retch, without the knowledge
of the hearts of others to guide you
to a place, a singular plane or point
where they might be compassionate
in spite of your wretchedness.

You, the creature with the walk,
with the shoulders back, oh avian,
you will never fly, never gain wing
and be seen against the clouds or
the rising sun; coward, you only strut
and yodel narcissistic-ditties
that no one even cares
to hear.

You, the empty and the broken,
the shark without the teeth,
complete with bloodlust, asanguine
be warned and wary, traveling sprite,
you trader of charms and dealer of
false confidences, you may have
attempted a piece of something
you will never quite swallow
to your chagrin, for it was never truly
in your grasp, and you, oh guileless viper,
never seeing beyond your dirt-toned belly,
this treasure never trusted itself
wholly to your claws. 

(Source: kheldan)

there is a very hard, pointed part of
my soul that hates you with every fiber;
being everything that I want to be while
you don’t care to be anything, at least in
act, on stage, on page, in life.

you smile and the world applauds 
and I just want to hurt myself,
hurt yourself because people
flower to love you in all you do
they shine like suns adoring you
and I’m the bitter fern in the dark,
murky part of the garden, getting
no part at all of attention and there
you go, you Rose, you Lily of the Valley,
and you roar your way to glory and
I just want to snap you from
this shared ground by your 
fantastical, snaky roots.

Your tongue is forked, Lily-Viper,
your mind in twain is mercurial,
and you’ve won all the wars I wished to win
and loved another portion of yourself through it all
and you would call me cruel?
I am not cruel, and you would play
the part of the crushed flower and receive
heart-felt applause - I would be the crushed nightshade
and receive nothing, no gauze -
You fucker, you horribly flowering weed!
You grow without growing,
they love you, a phantom, and ghost, a dream!

(Source: kheldan)

I’m not going to tell him 
I love him or I care about him
Or I want to kiss him
and read Tom Robbins together
and talk about Gustav Klimt
and Andrea di Robilant.

I’m not going to touch him
I’ll be in Prague, with a rich
old man and I will forget
this boy-man from my
boy-man-hood
and I will drink
copious amounts of alcohol
even illegal in Prague
and forget his face,
his damn knobby knees,
Roman nose
and lack of tan.
I’m going to forget what his lips
were like when We
kissed; he says it meant
nothing and he thought
we would laugh about it
I’ll cry and Prague will make
everything better and him
not real and I won’t
paranoid stalk his twitter
and try to figure out
if the little he has told
me about himself is true.

But I want it to be true.
I want to silently respect him,
yet there is something about
this possibility, this chemistry
that tells me in my very bones
to be afraid; he makes my soul
shake with his coming toward my
body, with his steps, with his talk.
He makes me shudder and emit tears
and all I know to do is vanish.

I cannot do this.
I cannot tell him.
I can breathe,
I cannot breathe. 

(Source: kheldan)

Men just want my body

If this is all really it,
what is even the point of living.

If I am just being tolerated
Like some sick freak in an
asylum,
if I am being ignored
so that other human beings
don’t have to recognize that
I need help, oh my
god, how do I even
compete with this shattered
vision I hold in my head?
Am I anything?
What am I?

He doesn’t even think
or care about me;
he’ll just use me and
I will come back to this
and weep.

I will never find someone who isn’t using me.
I will never find someone real.
I am doomed to go crazy, all alone,
to change nothing in this world,
and dear god if this is it
I will slit my wrists. 

So please, maybe-lover-boy,
don’t forsake me.
Please, let this be paranoia,
I can be crazy,
as long as someone gives a
goddamn. 

I am so incredibly hurt right now.
Everyone prefers him to me.
Every goddamn person I admire and like
Would rather have him than me.
I have nothing to fucking offer.
I have nothing worth notice.
I can’t have him back, wouldn’t anyway
And still, people that have known me for
years fucking adore him to the point of idiocy.

I have nothing to offer.
No one gives a good goddamn.

It hurts so badly. I thought I had intrinsic value,
once.

As if I ever did. I was only a pretty voice,
a pretty face, a radical mind
and a too colorful vocabulary.

Too honest, too forceful

And you want a shade, a smile
that encourages you and makes you his
children, his projects,
his wonderful possibilities,
rather than a cold reality.

May I even blame you?
May I even react?
Do I have the right to feel?