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hannah 3d
i’m still waiting at the bus stop,
waiting patiently for the bus that will take me to the world where you truly love me;
the world where you won’t make me undress to prove my love
because all i ever wanted was to be loved by you, is that too much to ask for?

i’m still waiting at the bus stop,
waiting patiently for the bus that will take me to the world where i’m more than just a doll to you,
more than just a pretty face you desire
because all i ever wanted was for you to love my soul too, not just my skin.

i’m still waiting at the bus stop,
waiting patiently for the bus that will take me to the world where you’ll stay with me forever,
another world where i won’t be thrown out into the cold as soon as i get tiresome
because all i ever wanted was for you to stay with me and never ever leave.

i’m still waiting at the bus stop,
waiting patiently for the bus that will take me to the world where i feel safe in your presence
and not like a pet that will always stay in the cage you gave me
because all i ever wanted was to stay in your arms and feel safe from every harm in this world.

i will always be waiting at the bus stop,
waiting patiently for the ride that will take me to the world where you truly love me
not for my body, not for my skin, but for my soul.
i don’t care if it may take a thousand years or a little longer than eternity;
i’ll always be waiting to feel what it’s like to be held by you, not touched.
hannah 11h
curse words were something i was always scared to say.
the lump in my throat every time i tried, the ghost hand covering my mouth at every attempt;
it always felt like something was choking me no matter how hard i tried to do so
but i mean, it’s a good thing, right? because it’s supposed to be bad.

sometimes though, i wish i could.
it would be nice to be able to curse out loud in liquified anger or rage.
but everyone says this is a blessing for me
because as i said, it’s supposed to be bad right?

if it does treat me like that though
then i’m guessing those three words are curse words too.
because every time i try to slip it out of my lips, i just can’t.
if this is the case, are curse words truly a bad thing
if it means having to bear the sight of you saying it to someone else before i could
when i waited and waited for you for what seemed like a little longer than eternity?
hannah 11h
all i long for is to be held, not touched;
to feel safe in someone’s arms, to feel safe in someone’s presence.
i just want something different than the restless, hungry hands that have left trails across my skin—
something other than my curves turning into one’s favorite playground.

all i long for is to be loved, not desired;
to wake up to breakfast in bed every morning, to see adoration in someone’s eyes when they look at me.
i just want something different than those lecherous gazes that have undressed every part of me—
something other than the sight of me being a trigger for someone’s hunger.

all i long for is to be cherished, not owned;
to hear the words “i’m so proud of you” come out of someone’s mouth, to have open arms to run into after i win a game.
i just want something different than those words that slip out of their lips saying “you’re my pretty little doll”—
something other than feeling like a child’s toy, tossed aside once outgrown.

all i long for is to be heard, not shushed;
to lay on someone’s lap as i cry about my inner demons, to sob into someone’s chest until sleep quietly takes over me.
i just want something different than those cruel voices that pierce through my biggest cries—
something other than those cold orders even as tears of blood slip through in silence.

no matter if it takes a million years or a little longer than eternity,
i will always look forward to going to the world—
to the world where i’m something more than a pet kept on its leash,
to the world where i’m something other than a trend that will die eventually,
to the world where i’m held in someone’s arms that wouldn’t dare to shatter me;
never touched like a possession, never shown off like a trophy.
this is a sort of sequel to my "bus stop" poem
hannah 2d
they loaded their nerf guns with those gaudy orange foam bullets that almost hurt my eyes
as i stood there waiting with a shield made of a cardboard box to protect myself from those small pieces of foam.
everyone was excited, so i tried to be excited
but what they didn’t know is how painful those supposed “toy bullets” felt.

then they started shooting at me— every single bullet.
i dodged and shielded everything they gave me with the little energy i had.
i tried to fake enjoying it, i really did,
but deep down inside, all i felt was fear, afraid of getting hit.

as i was protecting myself from those foam bullets
one hit me— hard.
even worse, it came from one of those big, powerful ones.
i told everyone that one hit me, that i was in pain, that it hurt so bad
but all they said was “it’s just nerf bullets, they can’t hurt that much”.
hannah 2d
i love being sarcastic—
to mock the most horrendous situations,
to ironize some of the most stupid things.
how i love my sarcastic self.

isn’t it so fun
making jokes out of the most unnecessary ****
to cover up something that’s nothing but true?

don’t you just love being sarcastic
to be able to conceal every single one of your insecurities?

it’s such a blessing to be sarcastic, isn’t it?
getting to hide away all the flaws you see in yourself
by joking about it and making a laugh out of it?

how i love being sarcastic.
hannah 19h
sleep paralysis demons are so scary.
they haunt me at the times i can’t move,
at the times i feel chained.

but at the same time,
why does it feel comforting?
it’s comforting knowing someone is always watching
over me
at my most vulnerable state.

why do sleep paralysis demons feel like a solace
when they’re supposed to make you afraid?
this isn't abt sleep paralysis demons.

— The End —