dried up paint

Scraping dried up paint from under my fingernails
With a 2H
Writing shit with too many details
Its getting late

Lying down by my book
Kept company by my pencils
And my phone
But its only decoration right now

I love it when an addiction is just decor
I could be using it but I wouldn’t know what for
To pick you up
To start to scroll
But I don’t
To want to drink
A glass of wine
But I wont

To smoke a cigarette, to think about you...
But I do


I love it when I write
Because nothing really means anything
Apart from one word at a time
And everyone thinks it does
That theres a theme or a deeper meaning
That I thought about before I finished it
I didn’t
There isn’t
Its just me talking in my head
If my brain could talk
Its just the shit it woulda said
I find meaning in my writing
But I don’t write with meaning
I write with a pencil
And dried up paint

Boy bye

Sorry I’m not good enough 
What you wanted me to be
Sorry I’m not good enough
But you’re not good enough for me
You try to perfect my flaws
But I love my imperfections
You try to bring me down
But let me teach you a lesson

See, I know I’m not perfect
And know ill never be
But I need someone to love how I am
So I can be the best me
But see
I cant make you love me
No matter how hard I try
So I’m giving you up
Sorry, boy, bye.

oh

Her feet sway slightly
Lifeless
All the blood goes there to die
Her knees are getting bluer
Her skin begins to cry

She used to be so mighty
Now lifeless her legs lie

But her mind is spinning circles
Her eyes as blue as the sky
Watch out onto the open
She still holds her head high

She sits upon the window sill
Pins and needles moving up into her thigh
And she thinks to herself
Ive been sat here for a while

Woman

As a woman

Ive started to notice sexism in my social life. If I’m seen giving orders it’s “micromanaging” “okay mum” “controlling” where as if a man does these things he is listened to, its “teaching” or “helping”.

I allowed myself to be held by men in a way that made me feel uncomfortable but “was just friendly”, talked to and about hyper sexually as an object to be seen and touched.

As a woman I am starting to be scared at how much I can see is based on nothing but my gender, no matter how much I know about an area, there will always be a dumber, more stupid man being listened to by many more.

When I use my sexuality to my advantage, as a way to make money, and to gain confidence. It’s seen as easy, a waste.

Unseen

Tripping over reality

Or under it

And seeing the unseen

What we cannot observe through the naked eye

Not even with enhanced vision

Unlocking corners of our mind

Observing a collision

Between reality and something else

But what is the something else that remains unseen

And will there come a day where it can be

Taylor

Fall or fly

And I fall sometimes

I fall

Or am I just flying

It feels like Im dying

Yet weightless

Every problem off my shoulder

Am I gliding? Surviving?

Or will I hit the ground in a crash

I never know how far down I’ll go

Before my wings open up again

But Im scared that one day they wont

Taylor