It’s an unintentional consequence.
My identity, at room temperature, is fluid

My identity, at room temperature, is fluid

Exactly what do I have to do to be the person I’m supposed to be?

Exactly what do I have to do to be the person I’m supposed to be?

I’d rather break my own heart than give you the satisfaction

I’d rather break my own heart than give you the satisfaction

How? How could you think this wouldn’t hurt me? How could you think that it was a good idea? How could you think everything would be okay? I swallowed my heart and now it beats in the pit of my stomach Acid rolls into the back of my throat with each painful throb My fists are clenched and I have no idea why I try to shrug but my shoulders are too set in their ways I’m lying to every reflective surface hoping it will believe me I don’t care But my body rejects the sentiment 

How?

How could you think this wouldn’t hurt me?

How could you think that it was a good idea?

How could you think everything would be okay?

I swallowed my heart and now it beats in the pit of my stomach

Acid rolls into the back of my throat with each painful throb

My fists are clenched and I have no idea why

I try to shrug but my shoulders are too set in their ways

I’m lying to every reflective surface hoping it will believe me

I don’t care

But my body rejects the sentiment 

By Agnes Toth. 
By Alexandra Levasseur.