Risky

I would be lying if I said I was completely unmarked
But then again I was never entirely truthful in the first place
With all this miscommunication
Mystery gets mistaken for cunning
Openness mistaken for unstable
Rendering me unlovable, unreadable.
Risky.

I may be proving you right in my argumentiveness or pretending things are great. And you may hate me for it.
Your frustration at not knowing what you want slipping in through the cracks of your tiny world.
You aren't perfect either.
Like
How can you throw words around like rape and love and sex and drugs.
And
Why do you find pleasure in playing with others emotions
But not being deep enough to make it amount to anything meaningful.
You just play.
And leave.
No purpose. No point.
Whatever.

I asked you
Do you think we are fundamentally selfish. And therefore evil.
And you said no.
And I said what about the time I said I was in love with you and you didn't feel the same. Was I just the charity case of your innocent plays. You acted as if our friendship was enough.
Then avoided me for four months.
Messing with the truth I needed.
Selfish. Evil.
And you just said yes. But it made me feel powerful.
And I cringed but kept silent. And forgot him.
I was all doe eyes and frigid touches back then.
There was a time when I would've said suck it. I too wanted to hold power before I realised I had a heart.
You never meant as much as you thought you did.

Two very different people. Me and everybody else.

by Nicola Thoner

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