To whoever touches me next,
   I'm not delicate anymore. I don't have gold running through my veins or silver in my hair. I'm not made up of flames and the sun anymore. I can't be your star.
   I'm by no means perfect. I never was and I never will be. The bruises that littered my skin as a child went deeper than skin. They were the first taste of my veins breaking open.
   When I say that I don't mind, know that I probably do. And I only do because I wish I was confident you weren't disappointed. Remember that when you touch me.
   Know that I care more about you than I care about my whole being. I want to please you more because then the attention will be diverted from me.
   I care if you say something critical. I may blow off a casual "it should look like this" but deep down I care.
   I am a lightening bug amidst a sea of stars. Keep in mind that nobody likes insects. I don't expect you to like me. I'm a bug that glows not a burning core of undiscovered atoms.
   If you kiss me in the middle of my back you will feel where my heart beats through my skin. If you kiss me on my lips you can feel where my heart beats through my breath.
   Lastly.
Love me. Please. I'm not expecting you to and by no means am I worthy of it.
   But love me.