And the past few weeks have made me feel worthless. As if I was simply a girl only useful for your sexual pleasure. Someone for you to fuck. Because to me, sex is when there’s a connection. Fucking is when it’s just about the pleasure. And that’s what it was. And I feel like shit when I think about it. I feel worthless, like I’ll never be good for anything else. And I hate myself for it. I hate myself for not speaking up, for just letting you. I don’t feel loved by you anymore. Maybe because I’ve forgotten what love means. I remember being loved and loving you before we had sex and the first few times we did it. But now, I give everything to you and I feel nothing in return. Nothing. Because I am and always will be, Nothing.

Nothing.

v.k.m

(via vkatherinem)

And at one point this was all I wanted, I would’ve killed to be this way with you, but things changed so quickly and you never said and I guess I might always be disappointed because of that because we were never in love, but boy, we could’ve been. I remember first talking to you; I never thought I’d meet a boy as passionate about dancing as I was, never dreamed he’d be so amazing. We shared a love of an art, a heritage that He doesn’t understand and never will; it’s something you have to born into and live in and it was you, it was only you for so long and I thought maybe just maybe. Then you gave me your bracelet and told me I was beautiful and wouldn’t even let me doubt it and when I was sad about my landscape and said it was ugly or large , your voice cracked when mine did and you insisted I was not. You told me that I was a beautiful piece of art with all the right curves and edges, soft but strong; that curls halfway down back shimmered with red in the sun, matching the color of my mouth and a shade darker than my lips; that skin of coffee with creamer and a little bit of sugar was better than caramel or any other kind; that lips dark blush color and wrapping around words made you happy and made you want to touch them; walking as if to music was special; you told me I was beautiful and you’re the only one who’s ever made me believe it. And it was late and we were both tired but it was you who said I love you first and I wished you’d meant it enough to kiss me but things happened quickly and I love Him but I think perhaps that even though we were never in love, boy, we could’ve been.

~v.k.m. (via vkatherinem)

Speaking For Her (Pride)

youfeelingwoozyyet:

She stays tight-lipped—

Words left on the table.

She may be dying inside,

Still, she keeps her pride.

Her mind is caged—

Enslaved by emotions.

Although an open book,

She has plenty to hide.

“The hard times will past—

My struggles won’t last.”

She responds when you ask.