I still get the urge to burn the house down with me in it
If only to destroy what destroys me
I still run my fingers over my scars
And think about the blood I’ve had to watch circle the drain
I still feel the moths in my stomach
And the tar black tightening of hands
Around my wrists, and my throat
What I mean to say is I still feel my sadness like a second skin
But loving him is like breathing clean air
Like washing the gasoline off my body before I drop the match
Loving him is locking the drawers that hold the sharp things
It is taking everything jagged and ruined from my body and making mosaic
Loving him is not saving me, I know
I am a woman of wounds
But it is holding my bruises up to the light
Seeing the colours and not the swelling
Looking at all the poorer parts of me through his eyes
And finding there are still some things left to save