_I’m tired of being your porcelain ache,_
__a honeyed bruise you press just to feel__
like something breaks.
The moon wore my name last night—
_called me “sugar,”_
then swallowed me whole.
I am not a whisper.
I’m smoke in your lungs,
a hunger that licks the edges
of your quietest shame.
You come to me
__with wrists full of apologies,__
but I’m not your silk confession
anymore.
I’ve traded my softness for salt—
kissed the mirror
until it tasted like metal.
I shed my skin in the hallway light
and watched it _slip into lace._
__You called it love.__
I called it
_forgetting myself slowly._
Now,
I wear thunder on my thighs.
My spine hums with velvet rage.
I am ___not___ your waiting room.
If I bloom again,
__it will be for me.__
_If I beg,_
it will be __my name__
I whisper back to the dark.
Apr 23, 2025
Apr 23, 2025 at 3:41 PM UTC
_I’m tired of being your porcelain ache,_
__a honeyed bruise you press just to feel__
like something breaks.
The moon wore my name last night—
_called me “sugar,”_
then swallowed me whole.
I am not a whisper.
I’m smoke in your lungs,
a hunger that licks the edges
of your quietest shame.
You come to me
__with wrists full of apologies,__
but I’m not your silk confession
anymore.
I’ve traded my softness for salt—
kissed the mirror
until it tasted like metal.
I shed my skin in the hallway light
and watched it _slip into lace._
__You called it love.__
I called it
_forgetting myself slowly._
Now,
I wear thunder on my thighs.
My spine hums with velvet rage.
I am ___not___ your waiting room.
If I bloom again,
__it will be for me.__
_If I beg,_
it will be __my name__
I whisper back to the dark.
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