I think I spend half my life mourning the versions of me before
And the next half terrified of reaching my final form

What’s a measure of a valuable life?
dignity;
Or knowing when to ask for help?
Is it clutched in talons of the oppressor?
Is it living fast and dying young all for a story to tell?
How many should watch over your rotting corpse?
Because in the end all our blood pools black;
The ink of our heart’s quill desperate to get out

You told me so many times
That I deserved better
But I never heard you

Your fingers trace me hip to breast
Switching back and forth against my curves
Sending ripples down my middle
And splitting me wide open

I love you
Three words I’ll never tell you
And words you’ll never say

Though I hear them everyday
In the whistle of the tea kettle
And your laugh against my temple

I love you
Three words you’ll never utter
And words that would break me to speak

I always imagine that being loved will be  
Like sunshine on my face
Like silencing my racing thoughts
Like slowing my heart rate
Like the smell right after it rains

But then they fall in love with me
And I lose all my senses

I know I love you because when I look at you I hear music.