No place for the kind.

I stay quite, torn inside. I look at the seaside painting on the wall, I can rip it from the wall and watch it’s wooden frame disfigure and break. I can get hold of aquarium and have it slip from fingers, watch the little fish struggle to breath on the tile floor. 

But I chose to sit and drink a bottle of wine. I blame myself all over again, that’s how I heal . I spice up my pain with a country music playing.

I wish I will be loved as much as I love. I wish I will be treated kindly. I wish I can walk down the streets with no armor, no fear of being manipulated. 

Can’t I be just be happy?!

Can’t I just freely ask?!

Why do I feel pain before joy?

Even the joy don’t last for long.