I thought a tattoo gun
and different shades of grey
would make me feel like a painting
I thought a cigarette between my finger tips
would make me feel like a poem
I thought if I sat in enough coffee shops
and read enough news articles
I'd be the kind of person
other people wanted to fall in love with
I thought if I lost
ten pounds and took Polaroids
of myself sipping lemonade
in a bathing suit,
you'd wish you hadn't
cracked me open
and picked me apart
every night for three years
of our lives
but the ink made me feel exposed
and the cigarettes made me feel like
I was standing at a truck stop
and the coffee shops were lonely
and the news articles were boring
and I lost more than weight that summer
and I took more than Polaroids
and I drank more than lemonade
and I cracked myself open
and I picked myself apart
and I forgot what I was doing
in the first place
but I couldn't make it stop