Tears rolling. Why do my feelings and thoughts have so much conflict? I’m a badass, but I’m so fucking lonely. I’m a warrior fighting battles and winning, but I’m nothing to anyone else.
I should be laughing and living my best life, but I crave attention and someone by my side. Why am I like this? Why can’t I be happy sleeping alone?
Even when I try to make my own happiness something is always missing. Is there anyone who can see me for who I really am? Someone who gives a shit to stick around even when it’s hard? Someone who doesn’t get bored and throw me aside like an old toy?
I just want to have that sing your favourite song at the top of your lungs in the car kind of passion. That string lights on a rooftop, candle lit dinner kind of effort. That cant get you off my mind, do anything to see you smile kind of love.
Is that as pathetic as it sounds? Why does my soul want one thing and my mind tell me it’s never going to happen for me? I should be strong enough to never fall for the fairytales. But somehow no matter how hard I try I still long for someone to joke with, cuddles and morning kisses, deep conversations and real intimacy.
A heart that was once so giving, now covered in layers of ice. Guarded yet yearning to break free. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a damsel in distress, I don’t need to be rescued. I’m just a princess with a sword waiting for a knight to fight beside me. Someone worth being vulnerable with.
About the Creator
Tonya Newman
Just an island girl who loves adventure. Trying to live my best life in this messed up, beautiful world. And writing along the way...
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Welcome to Dystopia
Existing solely on fear and deception. The only thing were told to love is perception. Welcome to dystopia. Where misinformation is stronger than truth, selfishness got hope looking more and more like a list of broken dreams. Brainwashed to play in a global squid game. Big schemes.
By Tonya Newmanabout a year ago in Poets
Discriminate
Authors note: I originally published this with no explanatory note, after a conversation with my partner in which we both agreed that no one would think these were my views, it was sufficiently over the top for it to be evidently a caricatured collection of some of the "microaggressive" things that can be said by people of one race to those of another. And lets be clear, I had in mind a white man talking to a black man in a country in which white is the majority. I wrote this after a conversation I had at work about the idea of microaggressions, in which we thought about who they were micro for - for the speaker, each of these comments may feel "micro", for the receiver, maybe not. I chose some of these lines carefully and deliberately, most of them are things I have heard said. But I wanted to come back and make absolutely clear that this is not a poem representing my views. We thought I didn't need to, but perhaps its not actually so very over the top as a caricature. Perhaps its a little too close to the bone. Perhaps that I would assume otherwise is in itself an illustration of my privilege.
By Hannah Moore2 days ago in Poets
Was I a Model in Japan?
During my time in Nagoya I worked and lived at the strangely famous hostel and café Nagonoya. With its chequered floors and florescent lighting it felt quite dated, but I think that was supposed to be part of the charm. The dorms were always fully booked on weekends with domestic tourists and there was always a buzz in the downstairs café. Camera crews were constantly in and out of the place interviewing the Japanese staff members who worked the café. I think it had something to do with the egg sandwiches. At least that was what was on most of the merchandise, except for that one dishcloth with the owner’s face on it. Was I being employed by a local celebrity?
By Susanna Kiernan6 days ago in Wander
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