A memo: Whatever it reminds you of, write it

Hate always finds me,
Despair’s prime capability,
I am the big ‘X’ on its map.
I got this all wrong.
Again, it was only a picture.
But I feel hollow.
And this map?
Where can I find the content?
Or perhaps direct me away
From this self-inflicted city.
Because we are all cities.
But I’d much rather live in yours.

It is not love, it is not even
infatuation, lust or mild attraction
I think it is jealousy.
The way your turn off.
It must be lonely and selfish,
But fuck I want for nothing
Except to erase your face
To stop caring for someone
Who never started to care.
Who I want to be liked by,
More than I want to like.

Whatever it reminds you of, write it.
This reminds me,
I should get over myself.
I am not some heightened
version of womanhood,
Not the better-than-you opus.
Not the longed for independent,
I-never-needed-you heroine.
In fact I amount to little more,
Than a being who should lose weight,
And read, read, read.
Throwing out this over-inflated opinion.


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