hindsight is a bitch when you are always right

“Each time I say or do something feels like a sacrifice inside itself. It feels like I am tearing away at my chest my little chest, tearing away little holes of flesh. What do I get but not someone else’s flesh, but little tiny encouragements saying that that’s what I was to do all along. There was never a world where I wouldn’t bleed. And bleed first I may. How will I know that he is also ready to bleed? The first time around it felt like a sure fire thing. A whole fiery exhibition, a burning sacrifice. And now it feels as though I must wait, in some sort of agony, until he deems me open enough to open himself up. I think this chain is sick and twisted, yet I don’t know how to vocalize that. Last time was so cold and so hard to deal with. And the last time I slept next to him I felt so far away and humiliated and sad. I don’t know whether to attribute this to situational circumstance (we are all so stressed because of finals) or something else of the matter. Maybe he’s made a decision in his mind. I am always right, you know. I am usually always right in my assumptions.”


— last year’s voice.
(I don’t have to tell you
that I was right)

© Alexandra Jema


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