i cannot find myself anymore.
i look through the veins, peaking through
pink flesh and peeling thoughts.

i do not know who i am anymore.
i grasp shot glasses.
i haven’t been able to eat without wanting to
puke.

i wish i could rewind.
my scraps are quickly being eaten,
by wolves who have devoured too many
sheep.

i will start anew.
first let me breathe in the rising dawn,
swimming through the aching humidity,
forgetting the color of your tongue.

i will start anew.

the red says, “do no touch”
the purple whispers, “she is not yours”
the blue proclaims, “you want to know, don’t you?”
the yellow laughs, “you cannot begin to imagine”
together, they sing,
“she is mine,
she is mine,
she is mine”

open up my lungs,
set the soiled insects free,
the water is boiling,
and the vapor gathers too quickly,
too much.

“we are mortals”
are words no twenty something wants to hear,
i would like to think i’m some greek goddess,
frolicking forever and ever,
loving until i am drained
(but i am already, darling)

once i knew a woman who closed herself up.
i think i am her now,
i see lemon fangs instead of pearly whites.
i seek adventures within myself,
to find roads with tumbleweeds and empty
ideas

i wish i knew how to stop,
because my skin is frayed and tattered,
from your yanking and feeding.

i wish i knew how to be beautiful,
because that is all we want in life,
and i keep looking at my blood vessels,
“beauty”
yet i see none.

sometimes i become so sad,
that all i want to do is sit on the creaky bathroom
tiles
and cry until i heave and hiccup like a
lonely child.
i will be newborn and ugly,
and i will roll in the earth to become whole
again.
i can feel my veins exploding,
and i can only hope they’re kaleidoscopes,
catching lights of leaves i haven’t seen,
and oceans i haven’t yet tried to
drown in.
my legs are tired. i need to stop
running to somewhere which is never there.
somehow, these are always about you.
but you’ll never know.
i’d rather set my veins

Free.

i have loved and loved and loved and loved.
my chest is dusty and aching,
but with a whisper,
i will love and love and love and love.
even when, no one will
give me love back.


(no one asks how much it stings)

I have a white tank, see through,
and I like to wear leopard print bras with it.
(neon ones, pink ones, ones that scream
looklooklookatmemememe)
Je veux faire du pied a toi
‘I want to play footsie with you’
it smells like you, after fifteen washes.
‘I want to make out with you’
it is wrung from where you gripped and spread
‘I want to *******’
it used to fit so well,
but it hangs like a torn shower curtain.
it is hard to breathe with it on,
because I cannot think of anything else except you
fuckingmeinit.
the words are frayed,
an ashy blue with speckles of snow white.
such a cool shirt, I used to think.
but you bit through it, with wolf fangs,
bit through until you punctured my skin,
drained me until I was nothing but a sac of helpless
skin.

It has French on it,
(so ******* witty)

I

want

to

forgetyou.

you see, when you first left,
it took such a long time to take out the shards
of glass, and fishing lines, and pieces of paper with
****** drawn hearts, and deflated balloons.
it took such a long time to find a needle and thread and sew all the
wounds.
it took days, months, years. and the stitches.
they were on my arms, legs, stomach, neck.
the scars did not heal until, until,
three years later.
you see, i put some scar cream. tried different
foundations.
placed different men’s hands and covered the scars with
bellowed ideas and bruises.


the scars have started bleeding, opened like
ripe tomatoes.
i do not have enough hands to cover them,
so i think i’ll sit here
until the bed soaks through.

it has been three days, and i am grasping at empty straws,
with holes that are microscopic, and i cannot
drink
anything.

it has been three days, and today i saw a motorcycle,
and resisted the urge to swerve into it,
so finally i could stop the buzz buzzbuzzing
in my no sense
brain.

it has been three days, and you are ignoring me,
and i can imagine last night you spent it between the legs
of some petit blond girl who is in love with you,
but you are in love with lust,
and i imagine her nights are pillow filled,
and moony-eyed.

it has been three days, and you still have my *******
jacket. but i am scared to step into your room,
you will speak with marbles and i will crawl, trying
to gobble them. you will crash, breaking my ribs and my
pride.
your fingertips will scar.
(i really like that jacket)

it has been three days.

i can taste you,
on my tongue, in between the cracks
of my canines, saturated on my
peeling lips.
and i haven’t been able to keep food down.
you are in the pockets of cheeks,
and you taste like guilt, shame,
and so much greed. greed.
i have brushed my teeth over five times today,
used mouthwash until my eyes watered.
but you are thick,
and i’m swallowing, hoping it will dissolve.

“i hope i never lose my *** drive,”
the wind tickled as i brought my nails to your
freckles.
your fingers found my back pockets,
burying deep and grabbing,
people watched. you smirked.
“not possible”

i have found myself while dancing,
grinding against walls scribbled with
martinis and broken ideas.
i have seen myself through others,
the girl who wobbles through neon colors,
the girl who shakes until sweat paints a fresh new coat.
i have heard my gospel,
through the thunderous speakers,
the screams of people who want a warm bed.
i have lost myself while dancing,
falling to absent galaxies,
trying to find a light to guide me home.
relying on the touch of unknown men,
to **** this star wallowing deep inside of me.
i do not know who i am
when i am dancing.
i want to think i am the milky way,
or a black hole,
gasping everything entirely.

if someone would have told me, two years ago,
that i would meet a man who would not only enter my
internal organs,
but be able to swim in my vessels without drowning
and be able to ******* over three times in one hour,
i would have laughed.
and laughed.
and laughed.

i did not grow up with siblings.
i grew up with half-sisters, half-brothers,
a step mom, just like in cinderella. except i never met her.
and i never will. (my dad would rather slash his own throat)
i was by myself,
with beanie babies and whispering sunlight.
i had to cover my ears when the screaming pierced,
blindfold my eyes when blood tainted the creases.
i made friends through my bathroom tiles,
the wavy puddles looked like old men, like crushed flowers.
i talked to inanimate objects, squirrels lurking behind bushes.
with the first bunny, i grabbed onto his fur.
with the first dog, i howled and panted, hoping to become.
i drew elaborate stories upon sidewalks, vanished into the lines of
majestic quests.
the real world was nothing but glass with tainted red.

“didn’t you wish you had siblings?”

i escaped. i’m here,
with scrapes and broken bones,
but i’m here.

you spread me like strawberry jam,
licking syrupy wrists and chewing on pips.
i will thaw leisurely, until my skin has saturated through
your insanity.
open me like a mango,
slurping, drops of juice upon blemishes,
sprinkling candy through open wounds.
bite through me, an apple hard and
mouth watering.
the pits of me will fall, searching for fertile soil,
and grow.grow.grow.

“you must know you’re beautiful”
somedays, yes. somedays, no.
the twelve year old me will haunt me most mornings,
placing nonsense like a flower wreath through my hair.
she’ll pick my stomach, stretching the skin like putty.
she’ll still her tongue out, gnawing at my bones.
i will hear the dark words, and they will stain upon my skin,
coal and smeared.
the fifteen year old me will creep in the afternoon,
smudging ink eyeliner, telling me there’s never a thing as toomuch.
she will sing into my pores, telling me i need to return to pale tiles
and empty hallways.
she will hide under my skin, waiting until the men and scary ideas return
to the base of my mouth.

my insides are pretty, beautiful (most of the time)
so give me more time, to work on the outside.
it has been long, i know.
but i need more.
more.

you lick me clean,
(no need for seconds)
i am dinner and desserts,
wrapped in one.
i have metamorphosed.
(you chipped and cracked until
the cocoon fell and shattered)
sticky air kisses my collarbone,
you slurp the salty water because no one can
satisfy you like I can.
the fields tingle through my old bones,
the lakes shiver upon my friable vents.
i am free, darling,
free only when i am with you.

the sun is calling all of us,
the wind is sneaking through our veins.
let our bones curve, not shake,
as the vines travel through our freckles.
your thighs may touch, but that is beautiful.
your stomach may not be flat, but that is beautiful.
your ribs may show, but that is beautiful.
do not let the scary monster of society lick you up.
frolic through the flowers, because you want to.
kiss the sand and soar through euphoria,
with nothing but shining eyes and crooked smiles.
you might have scars, but that is beautiful.
you might have stretch marks, but that is beautiful.
wear two pieces, one pieces, tank tops, sweaters, scarves,
because i will find you beautiful. and summer will find you beautiful.
dance with me into the sticky nights,
cry with me through the sunsets,
find your
beauty,
and ravish in it.
let us all be summer kissed,
and let us all be beautiful.

your body is my habitual enclave,
I know the roads, the routes, the rails,

the way it sparks in the night, how it creaks with the sun.
I coast your body like a map,
the compass in my palm quivers, the needle
whirls and swivels, disoriented, north left behind.
instead I will globe-trot through your anatomy,
with no concerns of foreign lands, with languages
of gibberish and people unfamiliar.
first, I will plunge into your shoulders,
gape at the brawn, the vastness,
compare them to the beautiful mountains seen in Colorado.
next, I will huddle in the wool of your torso,
stealing a quick snooze,
submerged in the berceuse of your coronaries.
afterward, I will drift among your hands,
skipping among the grooves,
stumbling upon the calluses.
then, I will float among your lips,
stealing speckles of salt while playfully
greeting your lingual.
and, and, and, my darling, this adventure
will exhaust me.
so I will traverse back, through your lips, your hands,
your torso, your shoulders, until
I come to my favorite monument.
they are waves full of sapphire, clashing among
charcoal thunderstorms, dancing along
fields of jade.
two orbs of magnificence (and mine)

you will smile, and ask how the journey was,
and I will reply, as always:

“unforgettable”

you bit valleys through my stomach last night,
gnawed your way through crevices on my neck,
nibbled love onto every orifice.
and today my body is numb with it all,
it is my favorite feeling.
when i glide my hand over, and the pain is raw,
fresh. new.
seeing the wounds, forming, gathering.
licking your name over and over on my lips,
searching for bits of you within my hair.
i ache, with throbs of pain, i ache, for you.
and next time i will tell you,
“no holding back”

darling, do you find me clingy?
you are the first who has stayed for longer then a
week.
you are the first who has spoken to me with truth,
instead of lies intertwined with alcohol and
lust.
so excuse the bite marks, the extensive sighs.
you are the first who has wanted my words,
not the stains within my legs,
or the dampness of my lips.
so excuse my nails that constantly scratch,
excuse the quiver my voice has when you
leave.
you are the first that has said,
“i love you”
and i have actually believed.
you are the first that has said,
“i will stay”
and actually have.

you are welcome to leave marks,
splashes, ink stains, scratches.
make some rough drafts,
until you reach your masterpiece.
my body is your canvas, my dear.
be creative. use blue,
use grey, use purple, use some
yellow for effect.
if you dare, use red.
i won’t complain,
i await your paint brushes,
your pencils,
your chalk.

i still **** my tummy in,
imagine it smooth.
my mom was surprised when i confessed
i was shirtless,
with nothing but my sports bra.
(at least I’m tan)
you say you like my tummy,
and some days I do too.
i still slap my thighs,
imagine scrawny flesh,
stretch marks are lost among
photoshop wonderland.
i’m an hourglass figure, you say,
but I find it silly we compare body types
to glasses, and fruit,
for we are a combination of things,
we are stars, and seas, and candy,
and railroad tracks that sometimes go around in circles until
we *****.
i still see my limbs as different people,
and i wish i could detach them like the toxins in my lungs.
people like my ***,
so maybe that’s why I move it so much when I’m drunk.
people say I’m Arabic,
people say I’m Mexican,
people say I’m Muslim,
but really I’m all of those combined into a mixing bowl,
and one day maybe, I’ll make cupcakes
and swallow them whole.

i had waited too long for today.
heat sauteing upon toast skin.
“you have some caramel on your lip”
trying, with no effort to lick it off,
you kissed it, placing your tongue between
my teeth.
my hands and heart were sticky with melted custard.
summer’s calling me home.

i have grown dusty vines among your ribs,
etches of azure plunging through your apertures.
i could stay nestled inside your brain all day.
the temporal lobe is associated with memory,
so mine must be grey matter with paint marks
and holes deep enough to quiver.
i catch the breath you exhale,
gnawing at your thirst.
in your ribs, i want to remain. in your brain, i will stay.
darling, let’s be alive again tonight.
stain the sheets with every drop of our
humanity,
until we bleed, bleed, bleed,
together.

you were prodding my back earlier,
pressing fingers into knots,
snaking though worries and muscles
smacking palms against coils,
rattling old ghosts and sore tendons
I gritted my teeth.“poor darling, poor darling”
push more, I whimpered
“poor darling
will these ever leave?”
a doctor could possibly,
but I know what she’ll say,
stop lifting, stop worrying so.

I think my demons find my way into my spine,
and they entwine through osseous
but, I want your fingers on my back,
your knuckles thrashing me until I scream,
because our love is like you trying to destroy these
knots;
you attempt to destroy what cannot be destroyed,

and I love you more every time.

he says i’m beautiful, in the morning,
when my hair is a cluster **** of tangles and knots,
when my skin is indented, chaffed from his bristles,
when my legs are beginning to grow the hair that for some
reason is not supposed to ever be there,
he says i’m beautiful, in the morning,
when i groan and shy away from the prospect
of the day
he says i’m beautiful,
he says i’m beautiful every morning,
until, he says, i can wake up every morning
and believe it, too.

“tell me i’m beautiful”

i wear my insecurities like my eyeliner, bold,
thick, never exactly matching,
never exactly perfect.
i embrace my flaws, like i shake
my *** when i dance,
unsteady. wild, a flame that festers
and blossoms.
i kiss my demons, like i eat a
milkshake, salivating, slurping,
a lover with no inhibitions.

i do not wear my insecurities,
instead i shove them down my throat,
hoping the stomach acid will dissolve.
destroy. them.
i do not embrace my flaws,
instead i push them back hard,
watching them fall to the ground and
break like glass.
i do not kiss my demons,
instead i spit in their faces, bite on
their cheeks until the hot, pulsing
tastes like
peppermint.

I had a dream recently,
where you were *******
me,
and it was so ******* hilarious,
because you were awful.


before waves, I used to imagine you
being the one to anchor me until the chains
ripped my skin to bone.

before sun rays, I used to think you
were the only one who could make my flesh
burn and peel and never ever heal.

before alcohol, I used to get foolishly drunk
on you. and you. and you.

i was a hunk of fish being hacked away by a
unsharpened butcher knife.
the hunks and guts splattered all over the apron.

you used to say i was beautiful,
and i guess i can’t believe it anymore because
you ripped my spine out only to place the bones
wrong and walking has never felt the same.

this dream never made sense, like the rest of them,
i swim through them with too much salt in my lungs
and the ocean keeps trying to drown. Drown. Drown. Me.

see you again, in a dream, in a wave, in a lie.
the thing is, i sort of want you inside,
but i only know you’ll crash.break.rip.stomp.
and my skin is already mangled

I cannot stay up too late by myself.
If I do, all the bad thoughts come
and the sadness expands, and floats
and explodes.
I think of all the flaws, how I am always
the giver.
how the future is so close, yet I can’t
make a path
(of any sorts)
how my scars will never truly fade.
I think of how I am always the one who
loves more.
and I think of people. and how someone is
awake. and breathing. and dying. and having
breakfast, right now. half away across the world.
I think of how we are all just a bunch of stars,
and I think of how we’re all just crashing into
each other.
(over and over and over)

I cannot stay up so late, with the night being
my only companion.
so I sleep.
because sleep is always more welcoming than
reality.

i did not shower today,
for i still feel the last few slips of heat
from your throat.
i did not shower today,
for the thought of you squirming
inside, makes me shiver.
i did not shower today,
for your teeth are eating my
collarbone. it looks like a lovely birthmark.
i did not shower today,
for washing you off would be lonely
and idiotic.
i did not shower today,
because i know your scent will be
trapped in my hair
and at some point in the middle of the
night, i will wake up, and forget, that
you are not here.

summer, spring, winter, fall,
it always carried a whiff of cleanliness, like lysol,
bleach and daffodils had made a not so secret love
child.
there were never any marks. no signs of mistakes,
accidents, humanity.
the floors glistened like the sun beaming off a black
convertible.
the windows, you couldn’t even tell they were
windows. not without the panes.
transparent like the shores of the Mediterranean.
I never touched anything.
I held my breath among glass, ornaments, picture frames.
afraid one intake would show up like a smudge that could
never be wiped off, no matter how much one tried.
she fits the house. like those china dolls, polished to perfection.
blonde hair rolled in unison curls. no frizz. never any
fly aways.
face just like those windows, eyes raging in a storm too far away.


his room was the only one i could sink in.
legos scattered
(i always stepped on the yellow ones)
clothes fuming with dirt and almost manhood.
his posters crooked, carrying characters dressed in
armor, or tuxedos, animated, weapons in hand.
his bed, never made, incasing the last impression of his body
(he always slept on his side)
a spot of drool still visible, blankets holding his scent.
soap, laundry detergent and oranges.
game controllers trashed, bite marks, dents, too many battles.
i finally breathed when i walked in.

purple, hazy hues.
yellow nuance, murky blossoms.
where are they?
azure tinge mixed in the honey.
canvas is blank,
with only galling white scribbles,
grey and ebony ink written.
enter, my darling
let me **** your fangs.
press. press. press.
my locks swathed in your fingers.
hard, my love, hard.
into my bones. film. upon layer.
upon membrane.
the blemishes,
your art.
tonight, we are animals,
so no time for serene.
passion.
howl with me,
consume me.

you are like the phone in the pocket
of my skinny jeans.
tight, barely fitting.
always threatening to find
a way
out.

you said my skin was
cinnamon.
i wonder if it
tasted like it too.
your skin was cigarette ash & *****.
my tongue is thick with it.

1 text in,
i hate the way my heart squeezes,
the way i see your eyes crashing into
me.

2 texts in,
i will away the urge to call you up
make you believe i’m some ***** you
always wanted me to be.

3 texts in,
i fall asleep with the thought of you,
a you i’ve made up.
we were just like this text messages.

fake.
deleted too easily.

disappointment is like that 7th glass of ***** you shot back.
in the beginning, the transparent liquid seems enticing, your heart beats
with new rhythm. (your glands water, your pupils dilate)

1 shot in, it burns…but slowly disappears.
instantly your brain forgets, your vein longs for the torture

2nd shot in, the burn is like fire, your lips smack with disgust
but you can’t stop there

3rd shot in, you taste the gasoline at the pit of your stomach,
fueling the flame that you know will eventually eat you alive

4th shot in, your brain is sending signals, telling you to jump
while you still can, but your arteries silence it, and all you can do
is laugh

5th shot in, people’s faces blur, your tongue is thick with regret.
your stomach is ready to empty the lies you previously swallowed

6th shot in, the floor moves. you have to hold a chair to steady yourself. people’s voices sound like boom boxes at full volume. you cover your ears to stop the pain

7th shot in, you’re on the ground, watching the ceiling float away. you
feel the previous shots try to find a way out.

disappointment hid itself in that 7th shot, entering your bloodstream quick and painless. you are lethargic, your head pounds like construction during a too early of a morning.
you sink into the couch, into the carpet, trying to regain previous emotions, movements.
disappointment travels your veins, gleeful with the free ride, the new
habitat.

(at some point, you’ll have to get rid of him)

hush, hush,
keep your rumbling down. let us not wake him!
he has no idea of this.
oh, this started so long ago, i cannot even remember
the first time i touched your heat,
tasted your iniquitous liquid.
i kept coming back, for one more sip, one more
sniff of your lip-smacking aroma.
oh, how my glands moisten at the mere thought of you!
how my nerves tremble without you.
so, shhh, shhh,
my joe, my java, my jesus.
keep your whistling down, my lover sleeps.
but tonight, we’ll share
another taste in my favorite mug,
we’ll swim in your bitter ocean

“i would have made a move on you”
unreachable, and yet you yearn with the soul
of a young boy i’ve seen in a summer field
far too many times.
“but saying, hypothetically…”
the dreams.
your eyes.
casting
spells
on
me.
in the dreams, you cared.
“hypothetically…”
i could never tell you about the dreams.
“hypothetically…”
you are the forest. he is the sea.
i ran through your trees for far too long.
“hypothetically…”
hypothetically, i would still dash through your woods, blissfully, scraping my knees as i fell over. over. over.

our goodbyes
are becoming more difficult.
for each day, i discover new crinkles
under your eyes or
how your voice sounds like sugar & cream stirred in coffee
when you smile.
so when i kiss you goodbye,
i’m kissing goodbye all of you.
(your body. your soul. my sea.)
i’m kissing goodbye the love that i have planted in you,
my love will grow until vines intertwine in your strands.
saying goodbye to you has never been
easy.
but why is it so hard now?

do you ever feel like
you hold the most love?
you would take a bullet
while they would take a graze.
you would jump in front of a train
while they would (maybe) amputate a leg.

“I’d take a bullet for you”
but i never figured out if you meant it
literally
or figuratively

“i missed you”
you only say this because i was there next to you.
i smelled like apples and you had forgotten my long hair.
you only say this because the music gridded into us, and the
fog intertwined through our pores.
you only say you miss me when i’m close enough to miss.
you only say this because you took something of mine
i can never take back.
in a month,
maybe
a
week,
you’ll miss me, but not so frequently.
that ache in your heart will subside for a while.
you’ll forget the crisp smell, the touch of silk.
until next time,
until next time.

you make me

so unbelievably happy.

you make me

so unbelievably sad.

and i wish i could understand

how one person

can lift me to the stars

and then

hurl me to the darkest part

of the ocean.

"how bout a goodnight kiss?"
maybe if i had another sip of the liquid jolly rancher
or maybe if it had
been a
dream.
your callused hands were never mine to hold.
please, don't stare at me,
i need a place for this bucket of salt,
and you need a doctor for your wounds.
(i can't lick them up anymore)
"just a peck on the cheek, okay?"
still too much.
(i saw your heart throbbing in the flesh)
the sticky red, under my fingernails
persistent,
like you.
i was never yours.
i was never
yours.

late at night, when only broken teenagers
and felines are awake. maybe it's 3
(or 4, or 5)
or right when sunshine slinks through.
somewhere between consciousness and slumber.
i turn, fingertips brushing your skin,
warmth dispersing under my pores.
not fully awake, not quite asleep, i wrap my arm
around your torso,
my lips placing lazy kisses upon your freckles.
your fingers, from alertness, or habit, grasp onto mine.
and somewhere between the state of consciousness and slumber,
i fall back asleep.

if you are going to ask what my favorite thing is, or
what on this earth makes me the happiest,
i would tell you to read the lines above

we were swathed in each other's ambience.
the bed, molded from our warm bodies.
outside, the snow fell
and fell
and fell,
ensnaring us further into our arms.
when hungry, we munched on chips, candy,
licking salty fingers and moving onto the main course
(my neck, your stomach)
we watched Blade Runner and sipped ***** drinks at noon,
we got drunk, off of the not so ****** orange juice,
and each other.
(we had the excuse, nowhere to go)
naked, and inebriated, we swayed
and boomed with the storm.
we giggled at nothing, discussed about everything.
we kissed until our lips chapped.
as the snow descended, and our minds drifted
to sleep, i wished to spend every snow day
enfolded
in
you.

i want to show you my scars. all of them.
and tell you the story.
i have many, i know. and probably 50 more will be added.
the ones blossoming on my shins & knees,
that's what happens when you're active in summer.
the one under my bottom lip,
i was young and my slumber met a sharp ended edge.
the ones on my hands,
let's just say the oven isn't my good friend.
and the other scars...
those are the scary stories.
those are the ones i lock away.
the ones on my stomach, my wrist, my arms.
those scars hold no stories, only nightmares.
those scars were no accidents, only battles.
i lie, most of the time, when questioned.
but you are not judgmental.
these scars, i know you could never fully understand.
but if i share my story,
if i tell you the secret beneath the scare tissue,
can you at least try?

the blank page holds nothing,
but water stains and empty words.
so why does everyone compare life to this?
(so why can i make no sense of it?)
fill it with dreams and aspirations, advice
and lessons learned, admirers and lovers,
enemies and relatives.
still, the page is ashy, and the ink stains, soaks.
i try to write on my blank page,
(but i draw a blank)
all i have is unreachable heights,
a demon encircling my throat,
men with too many teeth.
each day i throw away the blank pages away,
and each day i try to scribble something new.
the words are *****. vile and grotesque.
(i must throw it all away)
i'm trying again, tonight.
(maybe it's all about timing)
but so far, the words are useless.
tightening me, closing
until all
that's
left
is
ink.

beautiful girl, you are not ugly.
society is.
indeed you are so brilliant, society can only cower, trying to find someone else for the blame.
beautiful girl, you are not fat.
society is.
indeed it is so large and grotesque, spitting fumes of hate.
beautiful girl, you are not a *****.
society is.
condemning everyone's move, it's hypocrisy could paint the walls.
beautiful girl, you are not a ****.
society is.
throwing itself at every broken promise, silver-polished lie.
beautiful girl, you are not a freak
society is.
howling until all glance their way, foaming at the mouth with every inch of lunacy.
beautiful girl,
you are special. intelligent.
astonishing. inspiring.
phenomenal. mind-blowing.
breathtaking. remarkable.
stupefying. jaw-dropping.

society knows all of this,
but it wants to be the one on top.
so keep your head up, beautiful girl.
and smile.
smile.
smile.

before, i was content with (sort of)
escaping into the sigh of the night.
before, i was happy with (a little bit)
drinking until the walls blended together.
before, i was satisfied with (not really)
the love of strangers.

now, i am content with (absolutely)
slumbering through the night enveloped in you.
now, i am happy with (definitely)
drinking you in until my veins sing.
now, i am satisfied with (no question)
the blaze of your skin, the hunger roaring in your eyes.

now. now. now.
i am all yours.

the marks formed by ruthless tables, i can live without.
the bruises blossoming from falling too many times,
are of no beauty to me.
the scars from too many lost battles, bring joy
(for a little while)
but your marks, bright and vibrant.
your bruises, beautifully blue, yellow and purple,
are my new tattoos, the gun, your teeth.
the scratches etching my back, my blood under your nails,
my cells speckled.
this canvas, your work of art.
this exhibition, your dominance.
none other shall stain me.
i apply the pressure, perceive the throb.
come back, my brute, my savage, my demon,

love bites, i seek.
love bites, i need.