Too many feelings to put into lyrics

[wingnine]

When you looked at me, what did you see?
You didn’t see me, you saw my vulnerability (my weakness, my childlike innocence, my naiveness)

You saw my empathic soul as something to exploit, to control, to own. You are weak, so you had to pick an even weaker target; A scrawny 16 year old empath who didn’t stand a chance. I was a kid.

You sought me out, & decided to make me the source of your narcissistic supply;

in doing so you peeled pieces off of me, until layer by layer, you arrived at my core. all that is left of me are pieces of who I was, carelessly tossed on the ground like my clothes. my broken, wounded soul floating around, still fighting to survive. I was a kid.

How dare you?

You told me how mature and grownup I was, at only 16. Your mind games were subtle enough that I didn’t catch on. Suddenly I was your slave, at 16. I was a kid.

First it was love-bombing, a fantasy too good to be true. As the rose-colored clouds faded, everything I did disappointed you. Every bump in the road was somehow my fault. You were wrong, but I was the one apologizing. Mind games, gaslighting, defeat, dissociation.

Feeling like I was at your mercy, I shut everyone out for you. I cried for you. I sweat for you. I bled for you. My rights were taken by you. My privacy. My clothes. My innocence. My voice. And it would never be enough for you. I was just a kid.

You were shady as hell, but I never questioned you. After all, you were the master, and I was the slave. You kept your privacy, but everything I was became yours. You had secrets, but I was trained not to question you. I was a kid.

I was a kid. I was in high school. Barely had my license.

How pathetic are you? That you stripped a child of her rights? She was still growing, and you stunted her. How pathetic are you? How weak? I can’t relate to you.

Years later, and I’m waking up. I’m gaining the strength to rise up around these pieces of me, still on the ground where you left them. I’m starting to pick them up. Put them together, figure out where they go. Who they are. Tending to the gaping wounds. Right now they are raw and painful, but one day they will be scars. The grieve that covers my every day will slowly get smaller, but never fully gone. I was a kid, but I’m not anymore. I’m getting older. Trying to finally grow, and heal as I continue to age.



-thank you for taking the time to read through these feelings that I journaled a bit ago. I am trying to write music, but it’s hard to condense all of these feelings into lyrics. If anyone has successfully done so, share your tips!

[Scars]

Dear wingnine,
thank you for sharing. your words helped me to see you. i see you. i see what was done to you.
your words are full of strength and hope. my favorites are:

When you looked at me, what did you see?
You didn’t see me, you saw my vulnerability (my weakness, my childlike innocence, my naiveness)
You saw my empathic soul as something to exploit, to control, to own.
I was a kid.

You sought me out, & decided to make me the source of your narcissistic supply;
Your mind games were subtle enough that I didn’t catch on.
First it was love-bombing, a fantasy too good to be true.
As the rose-colored clouds faded, everything I did disappointed you.
I was a kid.

you peeled pieces off of me, until layer by layer, you arrived at my core.
all that is left of me are pieces of who I was, carelessly tossed on the ground like my clothes.
my broken, wounded soul floating around, still fighting to survive.
I was a kid.

since you asked for advice, i changed the order and format to make it flow a little more
best advice is just keep writing
scars

[wingnine]

Ahh thank you. Feeling seen is a rare thing for me. Isolation and loneliness being my norm, so being seen by you made me tear up.

THANK YOU. I love the way you made things flow. I will definitely save this for my writing