People speak words to me as if the words alone mean something,
As if I should put trust in the words themselves.
Words are meaningless without action and
Intentions are pointless without follow through.
Rich, coming from a woman who struggles to commit to anything.
Even richer, because I say so many words.
But I mean them all.
Don’t you understand the power that your words hold?
Many believe in words because they have no reason not to
Yet.
Some have several reasons not to, but continue to trust.
Me.
Words are so commonly used as a tool, or a weapon.
Words have the potential to make or break your faith.
As frightening as that may be, I chase the writers.
The skilled wordsmiths.
The artists. The creatives.
Masochism.
To one person your promises could mean nothing,
But to another they could mean hope at last.
You are painting an exquisite picture with
Vibrant colors and sun and smiles.
The vision lights up all of their senses
Only to be crushed when the artist abandons
Them with an unfinished work.
But all I’ve ever wanted is for the artists to chase me.
And they always make it seem like they are pursuing at first.
But they know I crave to be around them.
They assume every woman does.
So they have the upper hand.
This is the audacity that allows them to win.
Then, once I grant them an ounce of flattery and a sliver of attention,
They grow bored.
They always change their minds.
What was once viewed as unconditional desire is now predictable admiration.
Familiar. Comfortable.
Old news.
Fresh inspiration has struck!
Artists are always searching for someone
To inspire them
More than the last daydream
Who held their focus for a quick moment.
A new muse
While an incomplete masterpiece remains on the easel.
No matter if you’re Aphrodite or Mona Lisa,
The artist will grow indifferent to you.
Nobody is ever ideal enough.
Will they ever learn
That no one will satisfy them?
It’s the curse of arrogance.
It’s the punishment for their own inconsistency.
It’s in their superficial nature to place physical beauty above all
On a pedestal, framed, in the spotlight.
Lust guides their decisions and creates their priorities.
They convince themselves that newer is always better.
Eternally craving the greener grass.
Oh, the art they could create with such color.
They will never feel pleased for longer than a moment
because they expect the impossible of humans.
Humans are beings, not art.
Humans talk back in response to your preposterous interpretations.
Humans don’t always look as pristine as a portrait mounted on a wall.
Humans cry when they are overlooked.
But to have the artist’s attention is euphoria.
Its gratification is like no other.
It’s the validation your aching soul needed.
It doesn’t last.
You can’t hold it for long.
They wonder why no one genuinely wants them,
They only thirst after the virtuoso’s creative attention.
Because creators offer enticing fantasies and seemingly endless flattery.
But I allowed myself to adore you for you,
And then you showed your truly lackluster hues.
Lies are free
Until you invest in them.
Talk is cheap
Until you spend hours consumed with thoughts of each syllable.
I went too deep
And he didn’t follow
He never intended to.
He pretended.
To seek modern love is to dodge fleets of pretenders.
Why pretend?
Why fill my ears with beautiful words
And waste my days and nights
If they all meant nothing but momentary pleasure.
Why even talk?
Why not just leave me alone?
“You’re stunningly beautiful.” I am…
“I would worship at your feet.” I bet you wouldn’t.
“I’m here if you need to talk.” Where are you?
“You’re the only woman I talk to.” Don’t insult me.
And then, the most common of the meaningless words,
“I care about you.”
Show me.
Just don’t say it. Please, don’t.
Not to me. Not to anyone
Unless you’re aware that its not just a word.
Care is an action.
There’s nothing that makes me want to vomit more than a stranger claiming to care.
Meaningless.
He said it because he wanted me.
But not me.
My beauty.
He absorbed it and put more of it out into the world
With his name on it.
You all say the words as if they’re getting you closer to your fantasy with me.
In your dreams,
My body is present but I’m nowhere to be found.
Your words were nothing but a stepping stone.
You enjoyed my sass until it was aimed at you,
Challenging you.
Poor thing.
Suddenly, I didn’t matter as much as I did before.
You used to be so fascinated.
You poked and prodded at my brain for a day or two.
I ached for the warmth of your curiosity after it was gone.
Irresponsible.
If you don’t care that you’re irresponsible, maybe it will matter when I call you
Nonsensical.
Because your logic is flawed.
Do my words matter now, oh, rational one? Still, no.
What about
Cowardly?
Your brawn and vigor don’t disguise it very well.
You’re not much better than the men that have left scars on me.
Remember when you were concerned about that?
“You’re incredibly brave. You deserve better.”
Better than you too, my dear.
Because you’re not much above them.
Stop thinking you are.
You toyed with a woman who’s been traumatized and abandoned.
You’re not much better.
Even if you claim you’re “oblivious”,
Which is admitting your willful ignorance,
You’re avoiding.
Careless.
Selfish.
Wasting my resources without investing anything yourself.
Time. Energy.
And yes, care.
These days, I have little left to spend.
Big surprise, your statuesque sweetheart is cracked and crooked.
Imperfect.
Damaged.
You knew that going in, didn’t you?
You conveniently ignored it.
You read me like a book that you’re writing
But let your darling imagination run away.
Even when I told you exactly what to expect.
You like the beginnings, don’t you?
The middles are boring, aren’t they?
A means to an end. Every time.
Maybe you’re fine with that form of self sabotage.
I know why.
You don’t speak of the real reason.
You’ve fabricated a few to tell yourself and others.
You don’t want to even consider the fact
That you’re responsible for your own loneliness
As you feed yourself similar meaningless words.
“It was them, it was her, it was unreasonable.”
Do as you want.
Go as you please.
Flirt and fantasize
With anyone who’s not me.
I won’t bother you about your choices.
Just understand I won’t be here when you return.
I don’t have time for your lack of awareness.
Still, I go back to all of the words
Over and over again.
Empty.
Empty.
Empty.
Thinking about how foolish I was to fall for them
Yet again.
Different man. Same words.
So I’ll keep you all at a distance until I see initiative
And who knows if ever will.
Get comfortable,
I already have.
Hello! My name is Alexandria.I’m an intersectional feminist and advocate for victims of sexual violence. Although I’ve been writing since I was very young, I’m just now venturing into the world of freelance writing. I frequently post on Medium as well as my new WordPress blog (https://eternalmetamorphosis.art.blog) . I enjoy journaling about reflection, growth and healing, and I adore critical analysis of media, culture and fashion. My site is filled with raw and confessional journal entries about my recovery from trauma. Being a survivor of rape myself, my intended purpose for Eternal Metamorphosis is to help victims to feel empowered in the way that is unique to their journeys. I’m optimistic that my stories, and the stories of all survivors shared on my page, will broaden minds and encourage compassion, understanding and ACTION. Please feel free to reach out to me if you’d like to share your story with us. Click the link below to check out my site and get involved in the discussion!
https://eternalmetamorphosis.art.blog
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