I am the uncatchable woman
And my dear, I promise that is not a challenge
Because I will hold you at arms length unless you get closer and then I'll push you back farther than you were when you first started every time.
And it is not because I don't love you, chances are I do very much, but it is because in my head I have made myself unworthy of the love of anyone else so I pretend that it is poison and for some reason, despite my jokes about wanting to die that aren't really jokes sometimes, I protect myself.
And it is because of the poison already injected into my veins from all of the men who stole my innocence in my younger days that I shiver at your touch
Or that I throw an elbow when you come up behind me unannounced
Because I swore to myself that nobody else will ever catch me by surprise.
But I'll continue giving love until my lungs have given out and my eyes can no longer cry, regardless of whether or not you love me
Even though I thought you did because of the Time you noticed that I hadn't had any water all day and forced me to drink it
And because you held me when my medication made me sick.
But the thing about being the uncatchable woman is that as soon as I love you I'll leave you because nothing terrifies me more than finality and situations in which I have no control.
This is something I accuse everyone else of to hide my own faults
but they're all too real when I'm awake at night and you've stopped answering your phone.
The love I give will be taken away at any moment
And I wish I could say I bring it back into myself but I don't know where it goes.

I find it hard to write these days because I've found that lately, I feel little to no pain.
When I was a shell of a girl, the words flowed so much better from my fingertips.
Now, they come like water from a hose when someone's stepping on it.
I know I should be grateful for my fortune, when all I've known before is hurt, but my newfound joy has ****** my creativity dry.
I guess that this is why I subconsciously try to sabotage my own happiness.
I want to feel pain so I can write again.
I want beautiful words to reflect my lack of self esteem and fear of intimacy.
I want metaphors to bring to life my need to be a starving and broken artist.
The one they romanticise.
The one who makes post traumatic stress disorder look like modern art
Oil on canvas
Scratches on skin from me wanting to shred the spaces where he touched me.
A name of a baby I never had
The apology or closure I'll never receive.
Is that what the people want to read?
Because my happiness just isn't interesting enough

When someone lays their head on your chest, wraps their arms around you, and closes their eyes, you remember everything you learned about vulnerability and intimacy.
You hold them like a child and play with their hair, feel your breathing patterns sync, and discover that you can open up again.
You close your eyes too.

Today I looked in your eyes and felt the words at my lips again
They tasted so sweet as I choked them back because the last time I said them all you could say was
"The feeling is mutual"

I trace the freckles on your skin into maps of places I'm dying to explore
And today I finally understood the feeling of hunger and depth and passion as our bodies searched desperately for intimacy in one another.
But what we found was so much more,
as today I learned the feeling of not flinching at the thought of being touched.
And feeling the way your hands danced across the contour of my body, I finally felt like art.
And the moans that passed my lips is the music that we make
And I never want to stop singing for you.

It's been a long time I haven't been afraid of touch
But you hold me as I tremble and I feel perfectly at home.
And as you hold my hand in the car I feel my heart open a little more than it did yesterday or the day before when I was still unsure of how to go about feeling again.  
I was numb for a long time.
And I still don't know you as well as I'd like to but I still lay awake thinking of how your lips curl into a smile and how I want to kiss that smile.
And I imagine if you were a feeling, you'd feel a lot like waking up on an autumn morning feeling the breeze under your covers, and being content enough to stay there.
So I'll leave my windows open tonight so I can feel you when I wake up.