Do you know that I’m not her?
My hair doesn’t catch the
moonlight and my skin barely feels the cold.
My face shows no light and my arms
Will never bring people in.
Her warm hearts call them in
whereas my fear of rejection has
me pushing them away.
However my need for acceptance
has me hoping they come back.

I run from words like want and
love because showing my fragility
is something I refuse to do.
I walk with a hard face hoping the
world won’t see the cracks
tattered all over my heart.
I am not the damsel in distress
waiting for her prince to come
save her.
I am the evil step mother
destroying all forms of emotional
attachments my heart latches onto.
I burn villages and bridges
because I don’t want anyone
coming close to this still beating
vessel that pumps my body with
His will.

I brush off flirts and compliments
because I want somebody to not
find beauty in my form but to find
beauty in the darkness that is my
wounded soul.
The scars on my arms display
tears unshed whereas ghosts of
friends pushed away circle around
my body every day.

Joy knocks at my door but I
frantically search the house for
Misery to answer.
The thought of being with
happiness is wrong for I am loyal
to pain.
Pain who has been with me since I
remember and vowed never to
leave my side.
Pain who signed a misdeed
engulfing itself into my very
nature.
Pain feed itself then feed my
heart; it was a better tragedy than
Romeo and Juliet.

But as time went on, pain began
to starve.
The clouds refused to gather and
the rain refused to drop.
The sun had come out and it was
time for my tears to dry.
But I refused to let go.
I refused to let go for I am nothing
without pain.
He was with me in my darkest
hours and he shielded me from the
light in my heart.

I locked myself in but the
knocking at the door continued.
I couldn’t find them.
It seemed that Pain had slipped
through the back door and had
taken misery with him.
I was once again alone but this
time heartache was not there to
tend to my wounds.
With a still beating heart, I opened
the door.

As I count the cracks on my heart
I see your face fall.
I see it pale as you realise how
dusty and damaged it really is.
As I justify to you why I will
never be the fairytale ending you
were promised as a boy I am
faced with a daunting reality.
The knocking at the door has not
stopped.
To put it simply;
You are not happiness.
You are not him.

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