You don't know how to read me. You look away, as if my words were fire. You're worried you'll get burned. You're gonna miss the warning sign, anyway, so why bother?
Where is it? The carefully, beautifully presented lie. The caption at the end of the paper that I might read you out loud, one day, just to tell you: "see? it was written here, all along, and now it's all your fault. For not paying attention. For not preparing yourself for the pain I'm causing you."
Because someone did this to you already. This is what they taught you. Be careful or you're the one to blame. Be mindful that everybody lies, everybody will try to use you. Everybody wants to stomp on your good heart. Watch us teach you to never speak your heart out. Watch us push your tears down the back of your throat, with daggers, and spears; words that hurt you like steel. You knew it would happen, but you didn't brace yourself. You didn't read carefully enough. And they taught you it's all your fault.
But you don't have to read between the lines anymore. There are no hidden lines here. I'm wearing my heart on a sleeve and encouraging you to see that there's your name written on it. And it's there, whether you need it or not. Whether you want it or not. Stomp on it if you have to. Grab your spears, your daggers, if you have to.
So don't just read. Watch. Feel. Trust your eyes, your gut. Your ears.
You don't have to read between the lines anymore.
andulkaphoto
jacobvanloon
2087
origamiaround
titsay
annaxmalina
