For years you’d been starved, floating on air, running on the fumes of love and alcohol, caffeine and lust. Where one wasn’t, another was, and you’d shift between vices like a shadow, like the flicker of a flame.
One day, someday, today, the light will come.
Your memory rests in the shadows of my collarbone; you are dabbed like perfume
Behind the lobes of my ear, in the creases of my elbows, at the base of my neck.
My body is not a manifestation of my worth, but an expression of my self-love.
When you’re cut, I bleed. When you don’t eat, I starve. These are not words of sweetness or beautiful monogamy; this is a mutated cell that affects logical thought and choice.
Give me your pain
In the threads of your favorite shirt
That smell like sweat and musk and regret…
And a little like vanilla.
You shouldn’t be allowed to make me feel like this
What happens when you can’t even love yourself?