Aug 2017
Wicked are the ways your hands caress my frame and the picture of our limbs intertwined are placed on the same wall you've pinned me on once before.
I am my own.
I belong to noone.
but when you ask me
Who's is it?
I crumble at your feet.
You scatter broken parts of me in the grooves of your mind
and the cut on my lips placed by the sharp sword of your name had never felt so good.
Distracted,
you don't see me.
You admire the crimson that pours from my mouth and a jealous rage ignites within me- If only my heart could keep your gaze longer than my lips ever could.
It’s Yours.
I am my own.
I belong to noone.
but when you ask me
Who's is it?
I crumble at your feet.
You scatter broken parts of me in the grooves of your mind
and the cut on my lips placed by the sharp sword of your name had never felt so good.
Distracted,
you don't see me.
You admire the crimson that pours from my mouth and a jealous rage ignites within me- If only my heart could keep your gaze longer than my lips ever could.
It’s Yours.
I once found myself wanting to compress myself down to something so small & it was the satisfaction of being craved in the worst of ways from another that kept me from embracing all of myself, even the parts deemed "too hard" to want. I've grown up a lot since then but this is for my younger self and even someone who may be going through it now. You won't always be "Thiers".... one day, you'll be your own.
