Little Lady

You cry a little inside every time you see that kid begging instead of goofing around.
You die a little inside when you read the little piece on rape.
You tear up with every happy-sad movie.
You stare at nothing in the dark looking for answers.
You get scared of shadows walking alone.
You don’t like that baby lizard bossing around the house.
You give up every time that liner goes haywire.
You have a tiny heart ache every time people talk about getting married.
You get anxious thinking about what you’re going to do next.
Your smile droops a little when you see that love handle emerging.
You feel betrayed when your hair refuse to be civil.
You feel dumb every time your boss/teacher whips you in front of all.
You get sad when you don’t find the cheesecake you were craving.
You give up every time the wardrobe becomes a jigsaw puzzle.
You feel like kicking butt every time someone says you’re getting fat.
You want to murder the people who get your work/degree wrong.
You die a little inside when your favorite character dies or gets sad.
You are thrown back to memories when that song plays on the radio.
You are getting wounded like a warrior walking around with that shoe bite.
You feel stabbed every time that underwire is trying to get under your skin.
You curse under your breath every time that auto refuses to go.
You get tired of proving yourself.
You have lost the count of being misunderstood every time.
You miss the you who read through catastrophes.
You miss the you who was could slay without a hint of insecurities.
You miss the whole of you.
You miss the long hair cut too short.
You hate your tan more than anything.
You write better because speaking doesn’t appeal to you anymore.
You lose track of your mood swings.
You hate the bloated belly when you’re down.
You could slap every time someone stared at you creepily.
You could summon the devil to collect the slur commenter.
You want to be the law every time you’re eve teased.
You loath the fairness cream ads.
You feel poor every time you see someone traveling.
You hate it when you feel homesick in your own city.
You feel alone when you don’t see your siblings around.
You feel doomed every time you fuck up in the kitchen.
You feel old when your parents stop waiting on you.
You feel sorry for every time you judged.
You think the world is going to end in hatred.
You curse yourself for going broke.
You feel lost when you don’t get high like everyone else.
You feel alone with every piece of art you made and nobody understood it.
You feel cemented when you see people moving on.
You question your abilities every time you dream big.
You get a headache hearing what the aunty said.
You hate to hide that you care.
You find the world to be a mean place time and again.
Your faith is questioned every time you hear the news.
You, of all, hold on with all your might to the strength in you to see the good in everything.
You believe that the storm will end to give way to the rainbow.
You see yourself and many alike knowing it’ll get better.
You know this is not it.
You have you, now and forever.


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