My body is a temple; equipped with
hollow spots in-between each brittle rib.
Say hello to the gaps that were left when you did,
I've dedicated them to your very existence,
growing daisies in the spring time
within them to try and distract myself from
the absence of your fingertips on my skin.
With lips that sometimes take on a shade of periwinkle
when trying to remember what air tastes like,
trying to remember how to breathe evenly
trying to remember how to breathe
I mouth my regret at ever letting you in.
You are the stray hiding under the porch that
I don't have the money to feed, but can't seem to get rid of;
a leech that's come to like the taste of my blood.

I didn't know hurt on a first name basis
until you made me shake his clammy hand,
with eyes like black saucers and a tea kettle to match,
we indulged in scones and questioned anything that
didn't fit into our understanding of fire and brimstone.
Self trained nihilists, life was a game and we didn't
quite understand the point of playing
so we sit with our hands in our laps,
thumbs circling each other like it was some sort of race
and our lips parted ever so slightly,
waiting for the magic to happen.

The thing is, I wasn't trained as a magician.
there is no deck of cards, no magic curtain,
only a girl with lips, hips, fingertips,
all taught to sway in your presence. I don't know if it's magic
but if your breath stops short in your chest I must
be doing something right, right?
A song and dance I know all too well,
the smile, nod, giggle,
twirl your hair between ******* and stand in a way
that accents the attractiveness bred into your hips
by ancestors taught to do the very same.

The most haunting thing in all this,
is that I water the daisies in my chest daily
not because I can't forget, no,
but because I want to remember
want to live the rest of my life setting examples
of everything women shouldn't have to be
shouldn't want to be
shouldn't be bred to please
shouldn't sing crescendos in response to cat calls
and black and blue expectations. If you want perfection buy a barbie,
we are flesh and blood and sweat and tears
not your ******* play thing.

You cannot set fire to our hearts and then expect us
to bat our eyelashes daintily,  
whisper sweet nothings into the neck that creaks with contradiction.
Our love is not a force to be reckoned with
remember, sweet child, from whence you came
a woman herself carried you for nine back breaking months
to bring you into this world
a woman can just as easily take you out of it, maybe even easier.
Not many would open their mouths to relay this message
I suppose maybe I am a blip in the fabric of ancestry.
Somewhere in the makeup of my DNA, I gained a voice
and I fully intend to use it against idiocy.
Today I am throwing out my gardening tools,
these daisies in my rib cage no longer need tending
I have finally learned to know my worth without attaching
someone else's name to it.
Maybe it's time for you to do the same.