My legs are purple
where your frustration
curled its way around them,
greed of fleshy vines,
sore and sorry.

Lay alone out of necessity,
your arms around her,
my stomach heavy,
presented proof of
my inadequacies,
tell me I matter;
I'll lap it up
like sweet cream.

You hurt me better
than anything,
lies tying me
to your bedposts,
how lucky you are
that I'd rather be
wanted than loved.