Understand. And love.
We’re here. And we care.
It is not even hard for me to talk about this anymore. Time has changed me for good. People come, and people go but I eternally stand as an introvert. I express through writing and I sing the song of my legend vicariously through my clothing and accessories.
My matte purple nails yearn to scratch across his sweaty body. I wear a ruby ring on my pinky which is meant to rest on my ring finger.
Vintage wine lips stained with the virgin blood I wish I spilt for him. I lay undead on my silk sheets, every morning, rubbing and stroking. University reminds me of the lessons I learned for him. Kamasutra becomes my bible, and Mila Kunis becomes my inspiration. Transitioning to instrumental from rap, and strapping on a lacey corset, a quiet girl from a noble family sprints towards standing on her own two feet.
Hustling so hard and exhausting myself to the extent of leaving me breathless. But who could’ve imagined that these feet are trapped in diamond studded, burgundy, sky-scraper heels as the night pulls a shroud over my boy’s intense foot fetish from the world.
My Instagram profile is now flooded with self-drawn Hentai, featuring a dry A.F. manhood and a mouth full of sweet albino nectar, which once exhibited strictly classic Manga fan art.
I float in the dark energy of the limelight. I stand strong for my rights and by my opinions. I take care of my slowly deteriorating mother who, abandoned by the man she loves till date, is left with nothing but two daughters whose souls were killed by the people they called their family.
I hate those who lie, who cheat, who pretend but then I’ve realized – am I not the one who is cheating her desires, lying to the world and pretending to be quiet?
My mind screams at my peers telling them how stupid but lovable they are. It roars about in the broad daylight, breaking through my poker/resting bitch face, only in vain for no one ever manages to catch the noise.
I care. I think. I help. I glide along the crowd in my pastel pink sundress, red trench coat and white kitten heels. I end up offering too much. The debit flow has increased and my heart sinks deeper into the seemingly endless pit of credited emotions and gestures.
I break down. I struggle to become stronger one day. I allow myself a five-minute cry-time every day and later continue to be a gangster fully equipped with a hooded leather jacket, unicorn key ring, skin tight jeans, vampire dental grills and a “B-O-S-S” finger ring.
Nice to finally meet you, folks. I am a thixophobic girl with the soul of a hopeless romantic. Who could’ve imagined?
P.S. Thixophobia, A.K.A., Haphephobia is a rare specific phobia that involves the fear of touching or of being touched.