I spoke of your love like supernatural force. I struggled to string words together to form proper tribute to this love- the beauty of your love. I sang of a vivid lively love, and I am sorry.

I am sorry I spoke of your love so highly, sang of atoms and stars as I confessed how broken my body is compared to yours. I’m sorry my words slipped from my lips in desperate plea and your fingers did not reach to catch each leaping syllable. I’m sorry I misread desperation as love. I’m sorry I didn't recognize that your love is not love- it is desperation.

So here’s the truth. Your love is slaughter. Your love is gaping body waiting for trusted vulture to feast. Your love is not yours-your love is not love. My body will never be as broken- my heart will never be as weak. This body and soul know a greater love to themselves than you have yet to experience. You mistake this vulture’s gouging for gentle kisses, but I have never mistaken the intent behind my fingertips, the love and respect behind the touches. When this body falls, these atoms will not fall forsaken lost particles- they will be vibrant soldiers glowing before joining their home among the stars.

So here’s my sincere apology to myself. I’m sorry that I declared this body broken after witnessing something I misread as love. I do not want this abusive love-offering my heart and body to men who do not respect it as it should be revered. I do not want a boy’s lingering touch if my name is not a prayer in his mind. I do not want a boy’s lips on mine if he cannot see the universe reflected in my vibrant eyes. I can live with this love that lies in my soul- pulsing, growing, vibrant- until I find someone who will offer me more than scraps. I deserve so much more than scraps.