I've been trying to fill the void in my
heart
that tore me apart
when you left.

Convinced myself that
countless nights
of empty gas tanks
and coffee cups
would make me forget you

Now here I sit with a
dead engine
of a heart
And a buzz in my head that isn't just from
the caffeine confidence
but the words you said to me
before you left.

Once in a while you'd call me regret,
wonder out the door and lose your way outside.
But I'd wait by the window,
all morning and each unbearable night of limbo.
And when dawn broke through the window and
the light illuminated the trail on your skin;
you would appear on the doorstep ashamed and keen
on me.
I think it's now routine but I don't mind the times because
I've mapped love marks on the atlas of your skin knowing
you'll want to come back once you've seen the x marks the spot.

I've spent my teenage years disliking myself.
There's this space in my chest where my heart should be, but all I feel is the ghosts of my past / present / future clawing away  at my fragile bones
Begging for an escape.

When people ask me if I'm okay, I've adopted the occupation of ballerina
rehearsing and teaching the muscles
of my face to stay
poised and pretty
my lips bent upward at 45 degrees.

If the self help books say to love your body like a temple,
then why does mine feel like it's in ruins?
I am a deity of disgust,
a demigod of self loathing,
the omniscient voice of my own oppression.

If other people can be happy for me,
then why the hell can't I just be happy
for myself?

I'm staring up at the ceiling
again
Thinking of ways I could
fix myself

Permanent removal
from a temporary life.

Coincidentally, I saw your eyes
before I last blinked mine

Let's be honest, I was willing
to go
If it meant
you'd look at me the same.