Skip to main content

Scraps 🥀



The bare minimum is an affront, 

A slap in the face, a reminder that you've been settling for scraps. 

It's a stark realization that the little you've been given is not just inadequate, but also a reflection of your own worth. 

The desperation that comes with being starved of love and attention is a palpable thing, a hunger that gnaws at your very soul. It's a hunger that makes you grasp at anything, no matter how meager, no matter how toxic. 

You'll take the crumbs, the leftovers, the silence, and the absence, and you'll call it love. You'll convince yourself that the bare minimum is enough, that it's better than nothing. But deep down, you know it's not. You know that you're being fed lies, that you're being kept in a state of perpetual want. And it's humiliating, this desperation, this neediness. It's a constant reminder that you're not enough, that you're not worthy of more. 

But what if you stopped settling? 

What if you demanded more? 

What if you refused to be satisfied with the bare minimum?


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Unasked, Ungiven 💔

The moment silence becomes deafening You're left creeping into thoughts:  Have they forgotten what they did to you? Have they moved past it?  Is the apology, the guilt, long gone?  In that moment, a silent rage builds inside you.  Yet, there's also a bit of solace, knowing that what is truly meant for you doesn't need to be asked for-it will be given, without interrogation.  It is what it is.
11 comments
Read more

Raw Edges 💔

  My verses are not balm, but gasoline poured onto the embers of my soul, Sealing the wounds, keeping the fire burning, a pyre of pain and passion. I write to excavate the scars, to expose the raw nerves, To salt the wounds, to keep the memory of hurt alive, a ghastly, glowing ember. I write to anchor the pain, to tether it to the bone, To make it mine, to make it scream, to make it sing. Pain is my mother tongue, silence my suffocating womb, Between scream and hush, I birthed myself, a stillborn soul reborn. If I let the wound heal, I'll lose the fire that forges me, The flame that tempers my edges, that makes me sharp, that makes me cut. I'll be a husk, a shadow, a whisper of what I was, A forgotten scream, a muted whisper, a silenced song. I keep the wound raw, a festering, pulsing heart, A reminder of my pulse, of my existence, of my defiance. These poems are not bandages, they're battle scars, Proof that I was here, that I fought, that ...
10 comments
Read more

Fragile Facade 💔

Detachment was  by far the scariest thing about me, Until I met you, and it became the scariest thing for me. I wore armor, impenetrable and cold, Detached from hearts, stories untold. No flinch, no sigh, no second glance, Easy to let go, no lingering dance. Then you walked in, and walls came down, The fortress cracked, my heart renowned. The harder I held, the more I'd bleed, The pain was exquisite, a love so freed. But now I'm shattered, pieces on the floor, Every shard a scream, every breath a chore. You dismantled me, piece by piece, Leaving me hollow, a fragile release. You pushed me to the limit, took me for granted too, A reckoning's coming, and I'll break through. I'll see you in a different light, When I'll lock you out, and end the fight. You'll know the wrath of my indifference cold, When I'm done healing, and my heart's grown old. You'll see the ruin you've made of me, And wish you'd never tested my liberty. And yet, in this d...
17 comments
Read more