i'd let you
      cut me clean open
           with a dissecting knife
                    and trace my insides
                           with your fingertips

if i knew it meant you'd stay

it confounds me how you can
love me, when it’s hard to even
love myself.
you deserve the best;
sometimes i feel inadequate.
i look at (you), your body, the
skin and bones that compose you,
every feature, and i am astounded.
            your features, (are) the
definition of (beauty), artistry.
             (in) everything that composes
you, i find solace.
               i could search (all) the world,
and would not find anyone with
your skin and bones, your body and
all (its) features.
               for the (entirety), length, of
my life, i will ache to always be by
your side.


(you) (are) (beauty) (in) (all) (its) (entirety)

I’ve heard, “stay away from people
who make you feel you are hard to love”.

I tell myself that, bringing to light the
things you did to make me feel that way.
It’s almost like I never knew you,
and I don’t know if I’m okay with that.
It was hard for me to write for you,
but now that you’re gone it comes so easily.

You asked me why I didn’t spill my guts
on pages for you,

and I have to ask myself
the same question. I’ve questioned everything
that has happened in the past year.
I tried to pick up the pieces, make it whole,
but it failed. What was I supposed to do?

I don’t love you anymore.