my cheeks are pink
raw from
where i bit them
to hold the fire in my mouth
when you thought your feet stood on my chest

my lips are red
because i painted them that way
a mask
because i thought the natural ****
was too plain for you

my fingertips are purple
from pulling at your arms
willing you to turn around and finally face me.
to look at what you left behind.
to meet my gaze

then you’ll see my eyes
they are grey now
the golden green flecks that used to
catch the sunbeams
and the emerald that reflected
off the trees
has been diluted by
the storm that hit
with the same force you did

i used to be beautiful
filled with my own spectrum of vibrancy and life

now,
my colors are less significant
because of the shapes you left me.

the round bullseye curving
against the line of my jaw

the five-lined print of your grip
on my bicep

the oblong story
on the small of my back
from one bottle that you forgot you had in your hand.