I have never known love.
I have never been held by somebody who said
“We fit together”.
There has never been another
And that is fine.
I can’t live up to someone’s standards
And I can’t give more than I can take.
Of my heart to only one.
There isn't a part of me
That I can let ache
Because I need him by me.
I can’t give up drinking, and messing myself up,
Until I am tangled and bent.
It is my art, and it is an instinct
To remain convoluted and tormented.
It’s not a burden I can lay on someone without guilt.
Everyone is shallow to some extent,
And unless he is beautiful superficially,
I won’t be able to step out holding his hand.
Walk, head held high,
Telling the crowd that yes, he is mine
And I am his.
There are parts of me I love,
Slender ankles, fragile eyes,
But too many that I hate.
So it is impossible to believe someone
Who tells me that I am deadly
Beautiful,
Until those parts are blotted out, fixed.
I will continue to have to deal with anorexia and depression,
States that will always threaten to asphyxiate me
And I understand these are things that most people can’t understand.
This sort of continual struggle
Which I let creep beneath my thoughts
Every single ******* day.
Parts of me that are locked away,
Quietly pushed to the furthest corners
Under the bed
Shamefully.
There are dreams of coffee in the morning,
Cigarettes after ***,
Fingers down my back,
And falling asleep on his lap.
But I am unsure of what to say, and how to act
So he won’t have feelings of being oppressed or worse
Unloved.
I swing between extremes,
And there is no in between.
I live explosively, and that’s not something
Easily accepted.
Terrified of all these rules and warnings
And reining back,
I would rather be alone.