those little words,
and the ones
that came after -
I'm sorry
I made you wait.
your hands in
my hair,
your hands
at my waist -
*but I know
I'm sure.

I spent the better part of our
four years wishing for a miracle
so we could have our happy
ending

how funny to find my miracle
was waking up to realize
I deserve better

and to find that my happy
ending should be much
more than an ending

and that I need no one's
company for that
but my own

you broke me, you know.
it doesn't matter, though.
I've never really been whole
but you left me more of a
battlefield than I've ever
been, and it wasn't until
I was looking at the wreckage
that I really understood
the casualties. and I hate
you for it. I hate that I stand
on the precipice of happiness
and wholeness, and all I can
really see is that battlefield.
all I can really feel is that
vast terrifying emptiness
and not enoughness that you
drowned me in for years. all
I feel is the terror that I'm
going to **** this up,
because I'm not enough. that
I'm going to be left behind
because I'm worth nothing
to no one. and god I never
want to go back to being that
girl I was when I was with you,
the girl whose worth depends
on who she's with. I hated
her. I hated how she catered
to your every whim, I hated
how she swallowed her pride
and her heart every single day
so you could feel good.
you ****** me up and
I don't know how to undo
those years of degrading and
shame and cheating and
lies and anger and misery
and it's the ******* worst
story in the world. the girl
who stayed in the terrible
relationship, and now,
staring down the barrel
of something good,
all I want to do is run.

******* for that.
******* for everything.

he'll wipe the blood from your
chin, tell you you're beautiful
even when your smile splits
from ear to ear. he'll sew your
cheeks back together, tell you
it's okay that your lungs
occasionally collapse and it's
okay that sometimes you
can't breathe, because he'll
fill you with life when you
can't do it yourself and when
you apologize for smearing
your existence all over him,
when you apologize for what
a mess you are, when you
apologize for not being
better, he'll gently take
your face in his palms,
he'll tell you what a beautiful
thing you are, that you're his
mess, and god, baby girl,
you're so worth it.

darling little dolls,
suspended above the stage,
the scuffed toes of their dance shoes
just barely reaching the floor
and I watch you make
them dance, watch their
painted smiles and sad eyes
and their undying loyalty
to the grace of your fingers,
the turn of your wrist.
they dare not ask if you truly
love them, or if you love the
applause at the end
of every performance.

I could tell them, could tell
them about the night I
snuck into the empty
theater, long after the
crowd had emptied and
the lights had gone
out. I saw them lying there,
lifeless without your
careful direction,
left in a heap - unloved,
useless now,
and I'm sure you were off
somewhere, those fingers
bringing some other girls
with painted smiles and
sad eyes
to life.

did you know?
when you laid hands
on this fire skin the
flames that licked
underneath?
did you see the
way your palm
seared itself into
my skin? marks like
that rarely last
but days and
days
and days
later,
that mark is
still there

and god, I realized
how you pulled
me out of that
burning abyss
I realized
you
saved me
from drowning
in this ocean
of myself
and I can't
thank you
enough
but god I'm
sorry for the
way things still come
out of my mouth
like terrified
little
whispers

I'm sorry I'm
still wading in this
river of fear
because I know
you're nothing
like what
came
before
you
but I'm scared
I'm still
there
you know?
that girl
from before
and I are
nothing alike these days but I feel her sometimes creeping under my skin telling me you loved a monster you are a monster he'll never love you nothing will ever be okay just wait for the day he leaves and you forget how to catch your breath

I don't know how to
shut her up, but I know
neither of us deserves
her breathing down our
necks
but know
just know
I am
so grateful
for the way
you don't
put me
back together
but the way you
hold onto me
while I do
it
my
*self

standing in your bathroom,
staring down my own reflection,
at odds with your words and
my own thoughts - the ones where
I don't see the beauty you do,
the ones where you don't feel
the feelings I see in you. that ***
sits in my belly, warm and brave
and desperate for something
else, something you don't want
to offer too soon. you're out there,
quiet and waiting. waiting,
god knows what for. waiting
for the right time, waiting
for the spark of something.
yet no one knows the feel
of my skin better than you,
nor do they know the curve of
my hip. and so you wait. and so
I wait.
and I hope.
the *** in my belly
warms the cold need in my bones
and I will come back to you,
desperate and willing
but still,
you wait.