Up Our Sleeves








What am I doing.
I don't know.

When we're together I'm not sure of anything else. I'm only sure of you.

Why am I still here?
Why am I still doing all these things for you?

It used to be good for me. I used to be able to handle the pain of, as Selena Gomez puts it : "Lighting me up like Venus, and then you disappear and make me wait" ? 

But I'm worn out. I'm hollow. I watch you take and take and take, and I watch you throw me aside. I watch myself accept your non-verbal apologies, and I watch myself believe your lies.

I fall in love with you, I fall in love with us, with the magic that is there in the room when we're in it. When I know that in this world, there is no such thing as Magic. We believe what we want because we see it, even when we know that actually do know so much better.

I am your audience, and I have admired your shows regardless of knowing what goes on behind the curtain, behind every trick. I have memorised it like the back of my hand and yet here I am, applauding you, praising you, screaming your name, blowing you kisses, throwing you flowers.

I answer questions addressed for you in my head, coming to your defense.  Here I am, your Victim, and also, your Saviour, rescuing myself from your lies, with lies I have made up to counter the truth.

I know all this, I know that you see my messages, you receive my notifications on your phone, which is on your hand 24/7. I know you choose to ignore me, and put me aside, sometimes throw me away for days.

And yet here I am, watching you. Simply watching you do what you want with me, as if I am lifeless. As if I am not worthy of the little things I ask of you.

Consideration, care... love.
Is it really... too much to ask?

What do you want from me?
What more do you want me to give?







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