An Honest PleaThese bones cannot bring themselves to love just yet. The skin draped across this body has yet to find it’s proper position, constantly shifting as if displaced. My heart is 2 inches too far to the left, and I can hear the scraping of muscle against bone with each step I take. My lungs are far too shriveled and haven’t stretched to their great capacity since my first gulp of air. My body is shrinking within itself and a body that is fading from existence cannot be loved. / I want to be ****** back into place. I want someone’s lips to force my soul back into its deteriorating body. I want his body pressing against mine until our hatred and fear cloud the lines between my body and I am no longer concerned with the space we occupy. I want soft sounds to echo from his mouth again and again and again until I have scientifically proven that my body is a solid form that can elicit emotion from another body. I want to feel his pounding hard, writhing form, panting body under mine until my bones can’t hear the sound of their weakness anymore. I want to be ****** until my heart is ****** back to it’s place, my lungs are stretched past their capacity to the point of pain, my bones are broken and regrown in stronger form, my eyes are torn from the inside of my body and forced to see the blurring lines of the exploding universe, my atoms are pushed closer together until my solid form cannot be denied. I want someone’s body to teach mine that it can be wanted in the most obscene, terrifying ways. Maybe then, I’ll forget that shame and hatred have interwoven themselves through my atoms, forcing me to believe that I am not and will never be whole.