If Flamingos Wore Top Hats and Shalls 

i’m sorry

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Jesus, is this what it feels like to step off the treadmill with llama thighs onto solid earth, or did I step from one treadmill to another?

I don’t believe in romance anymore, yet I come to you when I’m at my most tired and weak. Afraid and filled with need.

Asking for a couch to stay on, busting in without apology or explanation after I left without a word.

Silent ice in response to your puppy dog eyes. The kind of eyes that have systematically murdered me in a series of little deaths before.

Pushing away the blanket and you know why but I can’t say it you can’t make me.

There are few places where I feel safe crying. It usually comes unbidden when I walk alone in the open air.

I have witnessed time and time again a woman using tears to manipulate.

I have accepted advice as gospel about never letting them see you cry.

I have been provoked to tears only to be told I’m worthless and then accused of crying to manipulate.

My hands were tied well.

And though I’ve tried, I cannot do this alone.

Yet, how are you supposed to feel when I act this way? How can you possibly understand?

Thank you for the peace. Sorry that it’s terrifying for me to accept it.

Author: tendrilwise

Hi, I have a diploma in Journalism, I've published a novel, and I am currently studying psychology. My odd way of viewing the world either gets me kicked out of parties or invited to them. Jenn McKay

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