“I know I could be a petty queen, I could release all the receipts the way you treated me. But honey I’m happier living in peace than cruelty.”

Is this pain ripping me, ripping us apart, really just psychosomatic?

You were right I don’t think I was good for your mental health But i highly doubt anyone could be.

There are versions of myself I will never recover, stolen by moments i will forever remember.

Two showers a day and I’m still a thousand more from washing you away.

You’d read between my lines, You’d seen truths i had tried to deny all my life.You had read poems that were tucked neatly under my sheets, words i never meant anyone to read.

The grace of being home is that i no longer have to waste energy on looking okay.

I hope you grow. I hope you change. It almost didn’t fazed me, when you chose her. You always wanted what you couldn’t have.

Your words hit harder than your fists, Neither missed.

I want to carve my insides out with a rusty spoon. It would be less painful.

December sinks in like a cold shouldered old friend. I try to stretch, reach my toes, but my own bones feel covered in snow.

I’m stoned on a nice boat ride. I fake a smile, you fake a life.

The last time you backstabbed me I grew a backbone. I should thank you.

I’m not sure if i’m to blame for all my relationship failures. But when i look at the wreckage I am the only commonality.

I should have known the moment your lips met mine that we were having an affair with borrowed time.

There was no way to save her. Believe me i wanted to. But how could I, when I could barely save myself.

I was only ten the first time I remember getting stabbed. My agony pierced the air with a sickening scream.

Missing you is the cruelest thing I could do to my heart, and maybe that’s why I do it: its easier to hurt myself than love myself.

When people are cruel, we can join them in their poison or find freedom in love.

When God wants to judge a nation, He gives them wicked rulers.

It is the honey which makes us cruel enough to ignore the death of a bee.

Now we suffer the evils of a long peace; luxury more cruel than war broods over us and avenges a conquered world.

Self love is a strength that only a few possess in this cruel world, don’t ever think of it as a weakness.

If you keep quiet and claim that your silence speaks, you’re silently part of the cruelty that goes around you. Thus make your voice sing.

Holy shadows of the dead, I am not to blame for your cruel and bitter fate, but the accursed rivalry which brought sister nations and brother people to fight one another.