you trace your finger
along my stomach
umbilicus to sternum
but that finger might as well
be a knife
allowing you to open me so you can
carefully pry apart my ribcage
with your demeaning hands

ive let you in
unwillingly
you're seeing parts of me
that God intended for us
to keep hidden from others

your eyes are opened
to what ive kept inside
the knots and
the butterflies and
the cracks and
the broken pieces of me

my ribs are shelves
collecting those knots
and butterflies and cracks
and broken pieces of me
displaying them like antiquities
each separated by empty space
that i prayed you'd fill
but all you do is
stare
unsatisfied

and when you're finished
you sew me back together
with lashes of shame and disgust
all i wanted was to please you
to see you show any type of empathy
or interest in who i really am
but you don't
why would you?

you taught me to truly hate myself
and guided me there with a book
hand written in cursive
illustrated and inspired by that
vicious tongue of yours

ive caged all of my demons
in hopes that ill be good enough
but i never am
i never will be
so i might as well set them free
and see what comes of it
and what comes of you and me