Hurting


Hurting can do some extraordinary things. It’s effectual.
Misery.
Isolation.
All from hurting.

Siting on the wrong side of the bar and everybody elses’ smiles rip into me like nails into flesh.

Curling up and disappearing would be convenient except for the fact that I want to be seen. That’s what I want: to be seen and not suffer this indifference. I think if even one person in my life had dared to care for me it would have broken through these walls that have caged me in.
Just one.

After all the witchery,
all the bitchery,
all the prickly hard-ass show,

I’m still just a damsel in distress.

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