I’m a flirtatious, horny mess of a person with large chunks of bad personality stuffed inside my curvy body.
I’m in a constant state of depression that sometimes likes to dress up as anything other than sadness, but it’s never really covered up.
I want to be cared about, and so I’ll take what I can get.
I’ll let you fuck me so I can pretend somebody cares, and when I watch as you put on your clothing to leave I’ll smile.
Once you’re gone I’ll cry a bit, blame myself, hate myself a little bit more, but it won’t change me. Maybe I’ll see you again I’ll think, and so the cycle goes on.
Maybe you’ll love me once you’ve had me more than once.
I’ve heard I’m great, wanna taste?
Do what you want so long as I can keep pretending this could be more someday.
I need to pretend to survive.
Pretending is hope, and it’s all I have.
I want to be needed.
I want to be wanted.
I need you.
I want you.
I hate you.
I loathe myself.
I need to feel as though I can be loved even if it’s a silly dream, and I’m just a silly girl.
You can have my body, and my love.
I’m capable of loving so deeply that it scares me, but no one wants to stay once I start loving them. What’s so bad about being loved?
Even if you don’t love me I’ll love you.
Isn’t that what everyone wants?
To be loved.
You can have my body.
I’ll even give you my soul if it’s real.
I’d give you everything even if you gave me nothing in return.
I can’t let this end, so just let me play pretend.