A thousand knives, a shot to the heart, and still your words will hurt me more
You see what I have feared most. Imperfection. Not your ideal. Not good enough.
A dent too-flawed, to the highest degree-you don’t regard me your equal.
You call out all the things I fear, I only want your acceptance. I’m not having it
Your words, your eyes whirl in my head like wild winds and I’m surrounded, cornered.
Does it please you to see me in such ache? Do my tears fill you with pride?
Still I love you so dearly, unconditionally-like it should always be.
Judgements. Judgements. You call me with fire in your mouth,
Slut. Degrading. Embarrassment to you. What else do you want from my soul?
I seek-Lust-for your approval so vainly its disgusting that I should let your words hurt me so
But they do. All I can force to say through pain in my face, I’m sorry.
I really am.