I have dark secrets stashed in my heart.
Not idle gossip or an unknown fact.
This secret feels more like a ball and chain.
This freedom you have given feels like a prison.

Oh, that sweet,
intoxicating feeling.

So, addictive
after one-time use.

I want it
I need it.

That adrenaline,
that dopamine.

You keep the drugs.
You control the dose.

I’m just a desperate ******
who’s in love with you.

I grasp onto the gasps and awe of some stranger
I do it all reckless, and so unafraid by this danger
I tango with the early hours and my own ***** mind
I beg for more from the phone screen I hide behind
I play with these loose holds and these unattached strings
I play with their pleasure, revel in the way they moan and sing
I validate my own worth through this self I display
I almost don't recognize the person on my mirror today

There’s nothing worse than a girl desperate for love:

A girl that pities herself enough to think she is so intrinsically broken
she couldn’t even connect with someone biologically destined to love her;
A girl stupid enough to learn that love is a reward that she must earn,
yet frantic enough to always work too hard for it;
A girl that overcompensates. Begs. Forces.
A girl that claims she ‘Doesn’t know what to do with love’
when it comes along, so that, naturally, she can smother it;
A girl who’s biggest fear is abandonment, yet is an expert on expecting too much;
A girl that’s waiting to be saved, but would tell you she doesn’t deserve it;
A girl that still obsesses over ways she has been bruised
when surrounded by people that have helped her heal;
A girl who’s self involved, with no sense of self;
A girl that cries. And cries. And cries.

There’s nothing worse than a girl desperate for love.