by Dasha Kocisova

Sometimes I’m nervous when I see you opening the door.
For a second I hold my breath, and I wonder which one
of you I’m going to get that day.

I repeat: “This has to end.”

I’m shaking and I need you but you don’t like it when I cry.
I’m labelled too sensitive. Too emotional. Too crazy.
Just too much human.

I repeat: “This isn’t him anymore.”

I lose myself bit by bit in the whirlpool of all the things
my lips refrain from telling you. Just keep smiling.
Real doesn’t look attractive on me.

I repeat: “Who are you? An illusionist.”

And for your next trick,
you’ll make me disappear.

 


Dasha Kocisova 

Dasha is an English, Journalism and Creative Writing graduate from Slovakia based in Glasgow.

Support Dear Damsels

Words are empowering – not only for the women who write them, but those who read them too.

Join our Patreon and help us continue to offer an inclusive and welcoming space for women to come together, share their words, and get a resounding response back.

Sign up to our Patreon