you used to call me beautiful.
so much it never felt like a compliment.
almost a need rather than a want.
it became fully expected rather than used as flattery.
comparisons between my earthly body and earthly beauty were not uncommon,
and remarks on what you saw in me solely customary.

now i struggle to remember how you saw delicacy in my flaws.
instead your words are filled with incantations of what i lack.
your eyes have lost the old look of loving intoxication,
presently they see what there is too much of,
what could be adjusted or covered.

and where you once found beauty in my words,
exclusively remorse remains.

i find myself searching for remnants of you.
pieces of the person i thought i understood left over from the storm that you so carelessly created.
cast away fragments of an identity i could once correctly perceive but now struggle to pick apart.
and as i search for these omitted components of someone i cherished,
my hopelessness grows more and more.
because how will i ever repair the misplaced shape my soul has morphed into,
when i cannot seem to rehabilitate the idea i have of you in my head to fit this new persona you have constructed.
and as the nights grow longer,
and days shorten,
perhaps those forgotten pieces will materialize.
or perhaps it is all a tragic and solemn endeavor
that ends with me forgetting who you were.

i want someone to talk to again.
to listen to any meaningful thoughts,
and yield intellectual conversations with.
but i have accepted that i am simply a body.
a combination of cells that can bring you pleasure.
not the freckles that dot my arms or the dimple that appears when i feel genuine happiness.
nothing but ***** and *** and places for your uninvited hands to reach.
so i give you what you want,
let you take whatever you need to feel complete,
in hopes that we can lay on your bed after,
and simply talk.
but the second you are done with me, i am pushed away without a single word.
and the next girl comes in,
but you don’t look into her beautiful eyes or take into account how inspiring her words are,
instead you notice the places she is bigger or smaller than i am,
and use us both as another tally on your wall.

i’m not alone in being sad.
that’s the worst part about it .
no matter how much i try,
everyone else will think they understand.
i’m not sure if i want them to.
not sure if i want to be alone in this feeling.
or if i’d rather have a companion.

you want to take it slow.
i’m much more of a fast paced person.
while you intensely watch the movies,
i look up the endings.
and when you wait at a red light you feel content,
while i try to rush the color change with my mind.
but for you darling,
i’ll go as slow as i can.

i never thought
i’d hold a hand,
that didn’t make me full of fear.

but your hand,
delicate fingers
and scars from the cold.

wraps me in a hug
that doesn’t suffocate
but guides me.

and with your hand in mind,
i feel safe.
please don’t let go.