You scare me
I know why, yet it remains a mystery.
I am in fear
of your voice's cadence, your gentle bird bones,
the whisper of tender strength beneath your chest, your skin.
I cower at the sight
of such a sharp jaw,
such soft eyes,
such dark waves.
What I am truly terrified of is the way that you make me feel
Because how do you make me feel?
You light me up, you listen,
you lend a shoulder as well as you lend an ear.
All this safety and security, a metaphor to your smile,
and a feeling somewhat like infinity.
All this
yet the ache in my chest stems from your lack of breast.
Where you stay firm, I crave the curve.
I do not know if I should overlook it,
more over, I do not know if I can.

I can no longer hate the people I used to know.
They are not the same
and I am different, too.
But to stop hating means to stop hurting
and I've gotta milk this dry.

I try on bulimia

but I don't like the way it fits

We are full of .ourselves.
like our cries are more noteworthy than the others.

We turn and say "shut the **** up"
We are full of .****.

I have been looking for so long for my other half,
searching in the most unlikely corners of the earth for them.
I have met an immeasurable amount of people and questioned every single one to **** them down.
I've written unlikely narratives, forcing them to fit,
and gone against my own standards and sanity to complete this puzzle.
But today
I showered myself.
I thought and ate and spoke
and braided my own hair
and lotioned my own skin.
There is no other half.
I am whole and I am one.

I am not a fraction of a human being

I do not do anything
and then I wonder why nothing gets done.