I pity you,
the man who I will love next,
for I am a broken mess.
An overused masterpiece.
I pity you for you will be my mechanic and tinker all my parts to make my most important part to be able to function again.
I pity you for you will be my warrior,
you will battle all the monsters I behold.
You will fight all the intangible forces that wouldn’t allow you inside my walls.
I pity you,
my love for you will be my healer, mending all the wounds left open.
You will stitch me back together and hoping you’ll be patient until I am fully recovered and alive again.
I pity you for you will be my painter, who will paint on my once again blank canvass, the erased masterpiece,
or the one who will paint the beauty you will discover from the chambers I hide within.
I pity you for I will not accept you as my prince because I am a Queen who thinks that she is no damsel-in-distress who doesn’t need any saving.
That I will only accept you once you are King that I know I deserve.
I pity you for I might not love you how you deserve to be loved because I have locked it up and testing waters if you might be yet another version of the people who used me, broke me and shattered me.
I’m sorry.
Please forgive me for you found me as a dismantled jigsaw puzzle, torn painting, a broken mirror patiently trying to fit all my pieces back together.