I’m sick of fuckboys saying they’re messed up themselves so they always mess up themselves while messing with myself.

Hold your hands out while I lay down the most vulnerable parts of me.  The parts I keep like presents labeled “do not open until this date”.

Like an excited child you rip open the wrapping paper like finger nails across my skin and I get a taste of the pain you’re about to give to me.

Next, you tear open the box.  This box! that contains the most vulnerable parts of me.  I feel my heart ripping open.  The cracking of the cardboard mimics the cracking of my ribs over my pounding heart.  

You look down into my vulnerable parts as I hold my breath.  
“Wow...thanks….you shouldn’t have”

You speak the truth about one thing.  I shouldn’t have.

You look around and say “I forgot to get you anything”

I think “it’s the thought that counts” but the problem is counting your thoughts only takes one hand.

One hand that I use to take my box back until I can lay it down in front of someone that looks down, smiles and says
“I got you the same thing”

8/18/2016 Amanda Powell