I’m grateful for everything I’ve been given
you say, squeezing my hand. And I stare
at your perfect skin.
Your words sound like forever, but eternity
isn’t something I’ve read about.
Stuffy hymns sung on pitch
but with no inflection.
Your voice is flat,
and it’s then I’m glad
I wore this dress.
I have seen loss-
and that’s something your naivety
can’t grasp.
I scratch at the skin,
because it’s pulled too tight.
I can still count the stark white stitches.
Still ride my fingers along
the valleys of my arm,
tracing out a maze.
It will never change;
the way it glares when I’m naked
next to you.
Next to you I always feel exposed.
Keep wishing to be invisible,
but you won’t close your eyes.
Don’t kiss my skin,
it’s not soft enough.
Don’t turn the light on,
you’ll be disappointed.
You run your fingers
along the canyons of my arm,
trying to smooth away my imperfection.
But I cover it up.
I put up barriers;
I protect you-
you’re not ready to accept the damage
I’ve sustained.Too harsh
for your blindly faithful eyes.
Still numb-
your efforts would be wasted.
My fingers caress privilege
when they graze your chest,
but me,
I’m patched together,
my feelings handed out piecemeal.
That’s what I keep trying to tell you.
There are just no parts left
for me to give.
You can touch me all you want,
but you can’t bring life back ;
forever petrified in place.
Don’t thank me, I’ve given you nothing.
Nothing delicate left here for your lips to taste.
Don’t thank them, They’ve made you believe
in perfection,
in salvation.
There’s nothing sacred left here for you to worship.
My skin still too cold, your words all fall flat.