Crush. . .

Crush, purely based on lust.
I fear that he won’t focus on us.
Put me on a pedestal, that never gathers dust.
Deep infactuation all based on the past.
Will he even notice that I’m not the same as I was?

Guess it’s just Me vs The Perception of  What Got His Heart Beating.
This is nothing like fighting with an ex he never imagined leaving.
It’ll be me that I’m fighting against, well a more perfect version of me.
Big shoes to fill or should I say little ones. Common facts about me, still quite the variable. Not knowing if he’ll notice which aspects of mine have changed and those which remain the same.
                                                         
Somehow fearing I won’t meet his expectations. Overlooking the fact that, in reality, my beauty has limitations.
He wakes up next to me, greeted by duffel bags, right under my eyes, that usually (if it was any other morning) come in handy when I pick up my morals and dignity which I  had dropped along side my red dress. But in this case, my eyes get greeted by glass slippers which he waited many years to slip on.

♥ Kamiz

Dinner With My Pretty Friend

image

She puts her heart on the table
And bares it all.
The good,
The bad,
And the painfully ugly.
She doesn’t hold a single thing back,
And honestly,
I wish she did.  
She almost makes me feel happy that I’m just ordinary and
Forever overlooked.
Behind the layer of her beautiful porcelain skin,
Lays a thousand insecurities crinkled on her so called flaws.
She stretches her barely responsive skin,
In attempt to display how “fat” she is.
She tells me that lately,
She has been relying on her tears for hydration.
She shared beauty tips which I found least expected.
I never would have guessed that shedding tears twice a day eventually keeps the sclera white as snow.
Or how a back hand from someone you love,
Plumps up the lips.

I’m finally seeing that beauty is not only about the ascetics,
But rather the pain that goes into it when nobody is watching.

I realise that I bit off a lot more than I could chew.
I sort of wanna cry now…
If I could just hold back the the waterfall for a little while longer.
In hopes of distracting myself,
My eyes begin to wonder,
Before the thought could even process,
I blurt out

“what’s that on your wrist”,

“oh nothing, just some feelings that wanted to escape my heart”

I hold her hand and gently whisper

“it doesn’t have to be abuse to feel like one”.

She speedily says

“It’s nothing. Don’t worry, he doesn’t beat me up”

I am intrigued by the way his presence flows through her insecurities.

I now see how pretend become her desperate emotion.

I can safely say,
Love,
When not done correctly,
Can easily flip from roses to thorns.

My curious mind refusing to stop,
I ask if the rose red colour down her neck were from “hickies”,

(I knew very well that they were from beatings)

Him throttling her like she’s some sort of Ducati in his extreme sport fantasy is way out of hand.

I can see how uncomfortable she’s getting,
she shakes her head and
Pulls her scarf higher.
She begins to cry

“don’t make me feel like my heart is falling out of my chest”

I was speechless.

For the first time,
I saw beyond her beauty,
I was exposed to more than just some skin and bones.

I could hear what her eyes were saying

“my body has kept me captive like a prisoner for many years”.

Words have never been my strongest point.
I just held her tightly, because that was all I could offer.

It’s just crazy how people would kill to be pretty, while she’d rather die than be beautiful.

We both barely touched our food,
I don’t even remember taking note of the waiter, yet alone making an order.
The bill lands on that table, “50/50?” I ask, and she simply replies “No, don’t worry about, I’ll use his card, it’s the least he could do for giving me all of these scars.”

♥ Kamiz