Rip and tear yourself into little pieces for our amusement. And smile! Never pout! You’re on camera! Be pretty! Stop! do it again! Be thin. No thinner! Wear this it. Make your tits look bigger. Take that off. Make your pecs look better.
“Undeniable tool” Be better. Be more. Be perfect. And positive. And smile. And wave. And dance. And #hashtag lol xo bff. And post. Be fake. Be beautiful. Be starving. Be careful. Be everything to everyone. Be a sex symbol. Offer more than you have
I am deceived by propaganda. Fight! For your people. Fight! For your honor. Fight! For their resources. I am devastated broken by my country and made to break another. You are devastation ruthless in your endeavors you claim to cleanse as you eradicate. You are devastation.
I am devastated. Debris and countless horrors I endure. I am deeply touched by your callous endeavors. I am grateful for your endless destruction. I am a child of a war fought in my name. I am devastating, desperate, desolate and dangerous.
“I am devastation” Ruthless In my endeavors I cleanse and eradicate all. End of all. I am devastating. Endless in my actions I destroy and erase anything.
And yet all I get are broken scraps of dead lovers and hollowed hearts and boys that could never say their truths lay shattered in the sink from violent punches to the mirror and here I am craving that sweet reflection only to chew on broken glass.
I’ve swallowed enough of this narrative so many stories of rose tinted kisses ending in white chiffon picket fences or gold trimmed carriages prince and princess happily ever afters.
I wish for once my love stories looked back at me in better. Because I am so sick and tired of broken glass. I know i sound whiny and angry and childish and bitter but this is what’s become of me.
Instead whenever I seek a love story in my image. I am force fed broken glass Distorted, Disappointing, Depressing stories of tragic or unhappy ending. In this world I am fed broken glass. My kisses taste of copper as I pierce my tongue on these brutal romances.
“I’m tired of broken glass” Everyday I see love stories Effervescent works of art Yet none set my heart ablaze. While beautiful pictures last in glass. No story shows my reflection.
And that which I remember even when I’ve never known it. That which burns top pyres and swims with the deepest regrets below the light of the sea. That which no storm or lion or king can claim What is it called?
That which moves the sun and ties a ribbon around the moon as a gift for only the beauty of a celestial is worthy of its ownership and that which liberates slaves to machines and pirates those that corrupt and pillage. What is it called?
That rampaging smoke that chokes the very breath from your lungs and fills them with sweet lavenders, lilacs, and roses. That which haunts and hunts you for a lifetime and beyond restless and relentless. What is it called?
“Nameless” That stuff that doesn’t end. That deep and violent romance. That blinding light that shackles you into bliss and sutures all your wounds. What is it called?
