I feel nauseated.
I feel like sleeping, like crying, like spitting out this bad taste in my mouth, like i’m being gutted inside out through tiny little incisions
but most of all i remorse.
Cool, hard, solid remorse.
I don’t feel much other than that.
To hear the words of utmost hatred for you being spat out his mouth and yet sensing his fear at the same time
is just a completely different experience altogether.
It’s almost surreal.
It’s as if i’m dealing with that fat sadistic bully in the playground who hasn’t fully formed ideas of sexism in his head but knows just enough on how to put a girl down with the right words.
Why didn’t you have the guts to say it louder huh? To say it to my face? To shout it from the rooftops? Why didn’t you?
And no don’t go bitching to mum about it. Why don’t you load up your guns and face me and tell me what you really think about me?
Is it because you secretly know that i’m just a push closer to the edge? COWARD.
GO THE WHOLE WAY. I DARE YOU. TRY ME.
“You’re going to regret what you said about me.”
And you will. I’ll definitely remember to take your advice, daddy.