Sometimes when I look at myself
all I can see is
ugly
worthless
****
I learned this from you.

You taught me that nothing I ever did was good enough
not for you
or anyone else
I would never be enough

Most importantly, you taught me what love is
That to love someone
I have to give away everything I am
my confidence
my body
my self-worth
until I am only an empty shell of a person
so they can hold power over me

Sometimes
when I can’t find these pieces of me
I can see your face
contorted with rage
insistent, pleading until I obey
or
smirking, condescending
I can hear your voice
you can’t wear that, you look like a ****
I’m the only one who really loves you
I did it for you, you owe me
I don’t owe you anything.

I taught myself how to love who I am
Reassembling all the pieces that you stole from me
took everything I had but
I am beautiful.
I am loveable.
I am worth something.
No one can ever change that.

One year, two, three
All of it blurs together.
My whole childhood,
gone in the blink of an eye.
Washed away with the waves of Huron.
In this moment,
the last of an era,
I want to stay.
I want to gather it,
pieces and fragments of seventeen years,
Into a blanket, surrounding me.
Close to me, within reach,
So it can't escape me.
Like if I wade in this deep blue,
Further and further,
I won't grow up.

Normally I'd hate to use cliches
But for you, I have to make an exception
Because you take my breath away.
There, I've said it.
I'll admit it's corny.
Nevertheless, it's all too true.
It's that heart skips a beat,
I can't think straight when you're around,
I want to spend every moment with you kind of love.
You make me experience a whole bundle of cliches,
And it gives them real meaning.

I'm in sync with you,
and you don't even recognize it.
Your foot taps out a rhythm on the floor,
little do you know there's a matching song in my head.
The smile etched on your face
is echoed on my lips.
Meeting you breath for breath,
inhale and exhale in time to yours.
Unconsciously, you form a connection with me
Your only tool being natural instinct.
I already feel you so close to me,
But when you say those words it makes it that much more real.
I know that you feel me too.

Not about love or life.
Not about sun and snow.
Not about hate or politics.
What more ought we know.

Not philosophy, psychology or history.
Nor horror, adventure or mystery.
Whether on sea or land,
it will not stand
in the vast oak court of reality.