This Is Me Realizing You Will Never Reach My Standards
This is me realizing that I have run out of chances to give you.
This is me realizing that I have run out of chances to give you.
In 2018, I am going to stop running from my problems. I am going to stop swearing I am fine when my insides are crumbling. I am going to stop forcing smiles and faking laughs.
She wishes you would press your lips against the soft skin of her neck. She wishes you would tease her by kissing the flesh of her thighs.
If a friend takes too long to answer a text, you think they hate you.
She knows what she deserves — and she knows who is a complete waste of her time. She knows who belongs in her rearview mirror on the journey to something better.
They aren’t into casual encounters. They want a lifelong love. They want something eternal.
Ask me about how many hours I’ve been working each week. Ask me about whether I feel fulfilled in my career. Ask me what I plan on doing with my passion.
No one knows that I am secretly suffering. They think I am okay. I keep tricking them into believing I am okay.
I woke up with marks on my wrists. Two vertical, red slashes on each side. They were written with sharpie, but meant to look like self-harm scars.
They don’t let anyone know it’s the first time they washed their hair in days, that it’s the first time they got out of their pajamas in a full week.