I hate the way that you try to pierce through my very skin
like it's some mask you need to destroy
as if every interaction is scripted
and our plots became twisted in some sick burst of authored inspiration
when you say you want to know me
like I even know myself at all
like I'm some treasure trove
that if you pry at the lock for just a minute longer
all will be revealed
the secrets to me, my world, our...
whatever this is-

love?
the four letter word that fills every heart with elation
the ultimate goal, a timeless measure of success
and the premise of our relations
measured in kisses,
profound words shared at unreasonable hours
where syllables slur
and gaps in our memories plague us for nights to come -
why do I dread it so much?

why does love have to be a goal?
why does every touch of your warm hands seem to melt a part of me?
frost - five letters, brief and symbolic of everything I'm made of;
what's in a name? evidently much.

why are you so determined to see past my warpaint -
if it is warpaint at all?
you say you want me to bare everything
that I look pretty despite marred skin -  
I hear that I don't have to bother embracing my sense of self for you.
is that all I am:
a template, one-size-fits-all?
**** your delusions
and the way you like to lengthen my name
like it's one that resonates with me

don't you listen?
I don't resonate with this world at all