Sister Quote #7068518
all quotes · sister · hurting · quote ·

I'm pale and wilting from standing in your shadow. I'm

I'm pale and wilting from standing in your shadow. I'm bruised and aching from being pressed beneath your thumb. Stop outshining me, let me breathe.

Be the first to comment on this quote.

2 Wittians like this

<
Next >

seafoam*

posted August 21, 2016 at 11:58pm UTC tagged with sister, hurting, quote

more quotes by seafoam*

format-br0kenwings LEAVE THIS HERE PLEASE. That's the trouble with carInG aBouT anYBoDY, YOU BEGIN TO FEEL OVER- protective. Then you BEGIN TO FEEL CROWDED. © format coded by: br0kenwings Please don't remove this, or make it invisible!
When I kept my expression coolly aloof, you'd complain that I wasn't happy enough, that being around my lack of emotion was draining all of yours. When I cried openly in front of you, you were disgusted that anyone could be so full of drama and promptly ran for the safer shelter of someone else's company until I ‘got over myself’. When I laughed freely and truly, tears of mirth streaking down my face and my breaths coming in short hysterical gasps because what had caused the gleeful outburst was just too funny for a quiet giggle to do it justice, you voiced your opinion that the sound was too loud, too ugly, too much like some wild animal. And that was the problem: you didn't let me feel what I wanted to feel, in the way that I wanted to feel it. My emotions weren't valid unless they were the ones you wanted to see in that moment. I think sometimes you didn't even view me as a human, but as a robot whose buttons you could press to get a particular output. You tried to polish me to a flawless shine, but found that my metal was too rusted. You tried to reprogram my wires, but your nerves frayed from one too many shocks. In the end you realized I was equipped with my own defenses and would only outsmart you, so you dismantled me and fled. I was left to clumsily reassemble my parts and pieces in the junkyard of my heart. I won't be in mint condition for the next person whose hands I fall into, but I won't be seen as scraps to be repaired, either. I'll be recognized as a beating heart, an independent mind, a warm body of soft flesh that collapses under too much pressure and builds itself back up; something sentient and perfectly functioning as is. I am not a machine in need of oil for my creaking hinges, the dents in my armor do not need to be glossed over. What needs reconstruction is the way you treat those you claim to love.