She wants to fall in love, but not with someone, no. She wraps her arms around her body, buries her face in her sleeves. She smells like citrus; she used too much soap.
She wants to love her throat and her thighs and her knees and her mouth.
She gasps and sighs and screams sometimes and spit oozes from between her lips. She tried to ***** into the bushes but as soon as she felt her stomach heave, she gave up.
She wants to love her toes and her collarbones and her elbows and her wrists.
A history book made her cry today, and so did chocolate chip cookies. She sweat and sweat and scraped her hands and her shower water was too cold.
She wants to love her calves and her nose and her spine and her hips.
She hates the feeling of gagging and she's afraid of pain but not blood. Her hair is all damp and she chews on her cheeks.
She wants to love her voice and her ribs and her teeth and her palms.
She likes a boy she shouldn't and she wants to write poems on his skin, but she has a math test on Wednesday and that will hurt worse.
She wants to love her cheekbones and her shoulders and her jaw and her stomach.
She really wants to love herself, she really, really does. I just don't think that she tries very hard.