To the boy who almost bought me flowers... But the store was closed.
Or he forgot,
or he couldn't choose,
because he couldn't remember my favourite flowers,
or he didn't care.

To the boy who almost loved me well.
The boy who almost made me a wife.
The boy who almost loved my flaws, but just couldn't quite grip them.
The boy who I almost lost myself in.
The boy who almost took everything I had, everything I believed.

The boy who almost killed me.

The boy who almost won the lottery,
until he lost his beautiful winning ticket.

To the boy who hurt the girl who cared so much that she almost forgot
to love herself more.
The boy who didn't think she could wake up and realize
that she deserved more than being
"almost" happy.

Sincerely,
The girl who is almost healed,
almost clean,
almost okay,
completely done.

If I could cut open my heart
And have it pour your blood
Would that make you more a part of me
Than the possession of all my love?

Reach inside your chest
And pull out anything but apathy,
So I can see you give
Something tangible back to me.

Rid my body of your toxins,
Sweat you out through every pore.
Until only the sweet salt is left
On my skin,
As it was before.

And maybe it's okay
To still say those three words.
As long as they taste like vinegar
Instead of feeling like a prayer
As they roll off your tongue
Into the always silent air.

I told you things I’ve never said aloud.
I told you of the procession of men in my past who have left me -
Scattered pieces of myself, crushed like glass,
Crushed like a little girl whose daddy walked away,
Crushed like a woman whose brother never called,
Crushed like a lover who wasn’t enough,
Never enough, never worth the fight.

And as you held me and flicked my tear-soaked cheeks and said,
“I know, but I’m here now.”
I should have seen, in that moment,
Nothing would be different.
You could only continue the traditions of your predecessors.
Knowing this past changes nothing in our future,
Your sutures were poison, cutting the wounds deeper and deeper until

I
      Bled
                Out.

How do you look someone in the eye as they say “I would never”,
Knowing that they already did?

As the light of a crisp dawn
Floats through my window each morning
My first thought
Is if you survived another night.
If you're even alive
To see the prize
Of this glowing sunrise.

Because I can't imagine my life without
Your words
Rolling down cheeks in the form of
My tears
And your smell
Like ocean mist
Blowing in the breeze of what was once a naive girl
Letting the salt harden her
Until she can rust
The bitter world of metal
Which lays beyond.

Because hating the world won't be the same
unless I'm hating it with you.

Because I love the darkness in your soul in a way
I never thought that little girl could.

Because wondering about your safety
is my long-standing hobby.

Because I'm selfish.
I'm selfish and I need you
To continue living
So I can continue
Dying
To save you.

She says maroon is her power colour,
because after the departure of her last lover,
it's the hue she saw spilt on the carpet,
the gorgeous ink leaking from her chest.

She wears burgundy dresses
with wavy beach tresses,
because they make her feel like a whimsical beauty,
the kind with her life well put together.

She paints bright red lipstick over her mouth
because it makes her feel like a sassy adult,
like a woman taking on the world
with her lips as crimson as the
blood she will extract if you scorn her.

Every day she looks in the mirror
at the incarnadine shades she made her veneer,
and thinks... maybe, someday,
my life will match this costume.

A beam of light
In womanly form
How warm and bright was she?
Until the boy
Who loved her pain
Took all that made her happy.

He cut her deep
With serrated edge
Just to watch her bleed.
And would not halt
Though to the sun
Most surely she could lead.
His life in darkness
She could attest,
Was not what it could be.
If he had let
The light pour in,
His eyes could finally see.

"I should have told you more often how gorgeous you are,"
he says while his lips cut deeper into my open wounds,
broken fragments of our memories littered throughout.

"I never wanted to be gorgeous", I say,
feeling his cold hands move through me.
Gorgeous women carry burdens I want no part of.
No, I wanted to be everything else.
I wanted to be loved.

But then you always say it - "baby you're so gorgeous",
and now I'm supposed to thank you for these bones,
for these eyes from my mother,
for a body you wouldn't love when the weight it carried wasn't
"gorgeous."

I lay awake holding love handles and cradling cheeks,
remembering every time a man called me "gorgeous"
and meant usable.

called me "gorgeous"
and meant agreeable.

called me "gorgeous"
and meant better if she's silent.

called me "gorgeous"
and meant too forgiving.

called me "gorgeous"
and meant less than whole.

called me "gorgeous"
and meant less than I am.

"Let me show you the parts of your body I like the most," he says
with a sly smile, constructing a mental roadmap.  
"No, let me show you the pieces of your soul that lured me", I reply.
I want to be introduced to the raw, untamed corners of your mind.
I want to compare the beauty of our understandings.
I want to be asked how it's possible that the entire universe can fit
inside of a kiss, a ring, and an outstretched hand.
I want to know why faces so admired fade from memory so quickly.

I never wanted to be gorgeous.