spit-tears's Diaryland
Diary
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spineless.
space is not something I need. Unless it's a space in which to sing where the acoustics hear my low notes as well as my highs where I can close my eyes and just wail like the siren I cry for. You told me you didn't want to be alone but You lied. You told me you would heal what was broken but instead you turned my stress fractures into splintered bone. and my sinews rotted from your sugar sweet portrayal of "woman" So now I'm bones: all crazyglued together like slipshod Lincoln logs in the daycare room-- it's naptime and all the toys remain scattered across the floor in landmine formation. You mistook me for someone who could let go. You mistook me for someone you wanted to know. not someone you were willing to love. But your idea of love is sacrifice-- that which I could make for you. You were the prize and I was the winner-- that's not respect it's trickery, where you're the bribe and the blackmail. But you were never willing to give, I had to beg and when I did you told me to walk away. where is that crutch you promised me? in that song you sang so sweetly-- lured me to your shore only to employ my admiration for a moment then push me through your mother's door. Like the day I realized I wanted to say "I love you" I hesitated. must forgotten that the way I love is equal and open. it's not to be left unspoken. You bruised me. misused me. twisted and misconstrued me, confused me, and finally refused me. I would give you eight thousand second chances. and still not deny you. I would give you everything you didn't even ask for-- and still feel selfish because your love is all I need. But I shouldn't have had to ask for you to love me. I shouldn't have had to ask you to want me, dear. If ONCE you had told me you cared-- I wouldn't have needed to hold you so near. I don't need space. But I would have given it to you-- if you had learned how to share. so go ahead-- stand up tall an emotionless pillar of carbon and salt. And sing out those songs to sailors in the water-- but remember when they come and crash upon your shore you can't break eight thousand hearts just to write eight thousand chords.
3:03 pm - Sunday, Jul. 26, 2009
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