Victim of manipulation
Overwhelmed with sadness
I thought you were a friend until you started playing mind games and I told you how I felt about you everything changed. You would become hot and cold and only reach out when you wanted something in return. My hopes and dreams of finding someone after years of being alone and focus on myself after a divorce. I prayed for true love. I thought
I found that with you until we made love it changed everything and you became distant. I cry almost every day because I thought I new better and wouldn’t let anyone ever hurt me emotionally again, I feel like I have failed love to many times. I wish it didn’t hurt so bad but, it does. Love is suppose to be kind but, I feel it’s failed me way to many times so I have decided I’m going to become cold and numb and never let anyone in again. Because if being a victim of manipulation.
About the Creator
Jennifer lindquist
I’ve always had a interest in poetry since I took a creative writing class in high school. Writing poetry is my safe place where I can either get positive or sometimes negative energy out by my writing of poetry.
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More stories from Jennifer lindquist and writers in Poets and other communities.
A broken Heart
A broken heart My heart is aching for the love you wants showed me. It’s as if someone tore my soul apart. Since I’ve lost you I haven’t been the same. My broken heart has sent me on fire and turned me into a heartless soul. I will not go without a fight I know my love I had for you once is now gone because of a broken heart that was made by you with your dishonesty. But, some how I can for give you because god once told me its going to be okay. Even though you have a broken heart you must move on and forgive those who may have deceived you and hurt your soul and broke your heart you must move on so when you die someday you can be at piece with the souls who broke your heart. So go at peace even with a broken heart.💔
By Jennifer lindquista day ago in Poets
The Piggy Project
I’ve had so many names in this life I lose track of which ones were ever really mine and which ones I wore because someone needed me to. Some were handed to me before I had words to refuse them, before I knew what they meant, before I knew I could say no. Most weren’t meant to hurt. That doesn’t mean they didn’t leave marks. Marks that told me who I belong to, who I am by way of who claims me, recognizes me in the good and bad, who walks beside me.
By Fatal Serendipity5 days ago in Confessions
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