This Is Not A Subtweet, But It Is A Selection of Substanzas

You told me to be kind to myself.
I said “Fine.”
And you said “No, not like that.”
I said what I said and you seemed to accept but then you didn’t?
And I’m back to wondering if I had forgotten how to speak English (it happens),
getting kind of gaslit,
asking myself if “no” only means “no” in response to a man,
and you tell me that you’re sorry,
but I don’t think you understand what you’re apologising for.
(I will not be apologising for broken rhyme schemes, I’m an Aquarius)

It feels like you’re just saying things I’ve heard before,
and maybe this is my fight or flight,
or the echoes of long, dark nights where I said what I said and the world responded with cold laughter.
I told you how I felt and you felt defensive,
as if it was offensive for me to feel something outside of your narrative,
where you are always nice,
and I am in need of nurture,
needing to be seen and heard,
until what you see and hear is uncomfortable.

You said you wanted to see me,
to hear me,
but when I invited you to my reality,
you tried to reframe it,
because it felt “unfair”.
You asked me to let myself be seen,
but then you closed your eyes.

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