it has been said
that it takes
7 years
for my skin cells
to become my own again.
7 years
for his touch
to wash off of me.
7 years
for the bruises to fade away.
7 years
for my skin to be absent
of his touch.
7 years
for me to wake up
in my own bed
without the feeling of his hands
on my skin.
7 years
to be completely void
of you.

and on the nights
we spend together,
out of breath
and tangled up,
i finally understand
what it means
to believe in
heaven.

everyone misses
the old me
and i swear,
i promise,
i’m trying so hard
to be her.
i’m trying so hard.
but it’s like
putting on your old
favorite t-shirt
and it just…
doesn’t seem to fit anymore.

worn and cracked,
dents and missing pieces.
day after day,
month after month.
only when you’re alone may you relax,
let the facade fall.
for when there is an audience,
you are hidden behind a broken mask.

my head
is up in the stars,
and my soul
is spoiled
in an overgrown garden.
the flowers
and the vines
surround me,
keeping me grounded
to the earth
because my overgrown garden
is afraid
that if she lets me go,
then my head
will go to war
with my soul.
and my overgrown garden
is afraid
that if she tries to defy
the stars,

she will lose.