I’m not your Princess.
You speak me as if we have some kind of history. Never once have I told you my secrets, you don’t know my middle name, shit I haven’t even hung out with you, yet you force this awkward intimacy with me before you’ve earned it. Your hands are foreign invaders. Your gestures are unwelcome. Your “good morning gorgeous” texts are off-putting.
I have learned the hard way you can’t force the first shiny thing you see into your heart. You can’t MAKE someone into what you need, just because you need. The flattery and compliments don’t make sense when you don’t even know the person. They’re insulting in their urgency. Your complements have an underlying need that make them nothing about me, and everything about you and your raging incompleteness.
I am not your oasis here to quench your dying thirst. Get your own fucking drink of water. Once I fall from this pedestal I didn’t ask to be put on you will hate me for not filling all your voids. Go away, stop trying, fuck all the way off.