So much writing.
So many words.
Enough to make my fingers burn.

I would set these sheets on fire
If it meant I could get you
To look at me
Hungry
And with desire.

Have you found perfection?
Is it in her impossibly blue eyes
Or in the honeyed streaks of strawberry blonde hair?
Maybe it's in emerald eyes and raven hair.

But always, always, fat-free and smoothened skin.
Photoshop staples, silicone
pinned in place with stitches.
Perfect. Pink. Hairless. Flawless.
**** and *** to die for.

I make myself sick wondering
How much you enjoy playing make-believe
With the doll-like women on your screen.

I wish I would have never picked up your phone.
I wish i had never looked through it.
Was I wrong?
Absolutely.
But so were you.

And now, every day, I die a little more on the inside.
Just the knowing.
The awareness in that I am not good enough for you,
and I probably haven't been since the beginning.

I could make up a hundred different reasons why I don't want to get out of bed in the morning.
But I don't have a hundred different reasons.

You broke me.
And I can't stop my hard beating heart.
I can't stop breathing hot down your neck.
I want my reason why.
And I will tear it out of you if I must.

"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned."

Though my fury is quiet, it isn't small.
Though my love is vast, it is not forgiving.

You've ****** me raw
Do not think I'll be forgetting.

I hate that I can't go two minutes without glancing at my phone
to make sure I haven't missed
any electronic affection from you.

I hate that I check so often,
yielding so little reward.

And that, somehow
the more I miss you during the day, the more disappointed I am to see you at night.

Is it because I know now?

Sometimes I peel up my skin
Just to see if there is anything inside worth loving.
I'm so ugly on top. If I was pretty you'd look at me when we make love.
If I was beautiful I would have been enough.

Im allergic to certain metals.
When I wear them they make my skin crack and bleed.
Like how you did to me. Creating canyons in me, to dive to my heart for the ****.
But you were blind like I was deaf.

My skin isn't perfect.
It isn't smooth.
Its too dry in the winter.
Its too much to take care of.
My skin fits my bones as well as you do -

Hardly.

Sometimes I feel like Laura Palmer
Princess, precious, favorite daughter

I feel like I know her
But sometimes my arms bend back

Angel, sweetheart, filthy *****

Sometimes I feel as dead as Laura

Dead, wrapped in plastic
Somehow still adored.

It's the little things that keep you in love with someone.

Your concern for the frizziness of your hair after it rains.

The way you lick and then purse your lips after a laugh.

How you suddenly wake up at 4 am and rustle in bed - then roll over and take me tight in your arms.

Begging like a child for an afternoon snack, no one can take care of you better than I.

The way you tilt your head down, gazing just above your glasses, to focus on something.

The way your belly moves when we have ***.

Yes, it's the little things.