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/ sitting in the backseat of the car holding hands
Im rapping to Downtown in a quiet voice
I look over, and hes smiling at me
Not the sly mocking smile of 'i can hear you'
But the smile that makes me feel like air
He looks at me like I've just lit up the sky
Moments like this are when i know
I am worth loving, and god, am i loved /

/ Tears in his eyes he's telling me
He doesn't want to be like his father
I want to breathe my love into his wounds
Mend him and hold him close
But i let him cry quietly into my chest
I hope he hears my heart
And its steady thrum of his name
You will always have a home here /

/ Thumb wars and muffled laughter
I grin triumphant and he grins back
Accepting my teasing and gloat
I'm only quiet when he kisses me
Lips on my neck, on my chest
Hands in my hair, on my waist
Worship. Worship
I know he lets me win /
I think the worst of it
Is that you.. forget
Who you were before
Memories slip away
And feelings
Until you're left with this
Vague sense, this innate
Understanding
That you used to be more
You used to be something
With more substance
Than this *ghost
I -

in a dark room on a bed that creaks
holding hands and we're laughing
you're stunning
reverence in your voice
i feel holy, and i feel beautiful

- II -

hungover on a park bench
the third time we ever met
you're telling me about your poetry
i'm telling you i've never had a muse
we're both nervous, but it's nice, too

- III -*

your hands are in my hair
and we fit like puzzle pieces
you love me with your eyes
and i melt, even before
you touch my body

- IV -

half-asleep curled into each other
netted in the safety of your arms
a mumbled *i adore you

as you pull me closer in
there is safety here, and kindness
People shouldn't be sad on their birthday
The pain never stops
Growing pains
Head pains
Muscle pains
The pain of seeing
your face your face your face
stop
We've forgotten him,
I tell myself
And yet still the pain lingers
Interwined with all
The other small agonies
That i forget about
In the wake of *you
She wasn't storybook pretty
She wasn't even the plain kind of pretty
No mary sue or timid thing
She was weepy phonecalls at 3am
And smashing plates in kitchen sinks
She was thunder and lightning
Bright and burning
And you couldn't catch her if you tried
She was destruction and it was not
Beautiful, but it was enchanting
The type of girl who stole breaths
Simply for the enjoyment of watching
Us mere things gasping for air
She was a galeforce wind in winter
You couldn't look away,
And she couldn't stay
Even if she wanted to.
people need to stop
with this whole
'real women have curves -
real women have stretch marks -
real women have cellulite -'
etcetera freaking etcetera
this mentality is killing us
i have rolls and wrinkles
and skin dimples
and i am real as the dawn
and my best friend has none
she is slim and lithe
and unmarred by flesh like mine
and she is real
and she is beautiful
and i am beautiful
bodies are bodies
stop it.
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