My Heart is in My Tears
He wants me to cry, this man who leaves these marks on me:
Hit me harder, cut me deeper, hurt me worse. I will not cry for you. I will not cry for a man who is only as useful to me as his cock is functional. Yes, crying is a release-for some. And I'm sure you've made others cry with your belt, with your slaps, with your harsh words. Not me. Never me.
He has a girlfriend, overseas. A "girlfriend", I should say. Found her on a mail order bride website. He speaks of marriage and commitment and children, but not of love. In one way, he reminds me of my father, his desperation for offspring. I offer advice and support, even though the bitterness and hatred are apparent in my voice. But they are directed at the one who hurt me, the one from the same country, the one in a similar situation. I tell him to be wary as my heart remembers the same words spoken to me. I tell myself this is not the same girl, this is not the same girl.
He is "taken", this man who hurts me so well. Every now and then my body belongs to him, and his to me. Every now and then we use each other for pleasures otherwise so difficultly obtained. My body he can have, my body he can use.
But my heart is in my tears and no matter how hard he hits, how deep he cuts, how much he hurts, he will not reach it.
He wants me to cry, this man who leaves these marks on me.
Laters
Hit me harder, cut me deeper, hurt me worse. I will not cry for you. I will not cry for a man who is only as useful to me as his cock is functional. Yes, crying is a release-for some. And I'm sure you've made others cry with your belt, with your slaps, with your harsh words. Not me. Never me.
He has a girlfriend, overseas. A "girlfriend", I should say. Found her on a mail order bride website. He speaks of marriage and commitment and children, but not of love. In one way, he reminds me of my father, his desperation for offspring. I offer advice and support, even though the bitterness and hatred are apparent in my voice. But they are directed at the one who hurt me, the one from the same country, the one in a similar situation. I tell him to be wary as my heart remembers the same words spoken to me. I tell myself this is not the same girl, this is not the same girl.
He is "taken", this man who hurts me so well. Every now and then my body belongs to him, and his to me. Every now and then we use each other for pleasures otherwise so difficultly obtained. My body he can have, my body he can use.
But my heart is in my tears and no matter how hard he hits, how deep he cuts, how much he hurts, he will not reach it.
He wants me to cry, this man who leaves these marks on me.
Laters
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