she monologued to me,
I was beside her bed.
I could tell that this monologue wasn't meant for me,
it was meant for the stars.
I remember she talked to them a lot,
she thought they were some supernatural beings,
so they would "get it" more than we would.
she probably wasn't wrong, I got in the habit of it too eventually, after she passed of course.
since I knew I was talking to her too up there.

she wasn't talking about anything in particular,
she often didn't,
and I can't exactly recall everything she said,
her words seemed so sacred.
not meant for me to repeat by count.
but at the end of her monologue, she started directing it at me.
telling me that "the universe was made to be seen by your eyes"
and that I was worth a thousand lifetimes.
she never clarified what she meant,
but I took it as if she was telling me that
the world is so beautiful
and so much changes
but I'm beautiful too,
and the changes we both make
are made to be seen together.
the stars and I were made for each other.

what do you see when you see them?
their smile? is it something about their personality? tell me.


now, what do you taste when you think of them? is it their body? or a food that tastes like a memory of them? tell me that, too.


what do you hear when you think of them? their laugh? their favorite song? their sleep talking? keep going.


what do you feel when you think of them? their hands? their heartbeat? talk to me.


now, what do you smell when you think of them? their own smell? maybe their favorite flower? tell me.

learning to surrender your body
unwillingly
is not easy.

it feels like you're separating,
body and soul becoming detached.
it's not giving it to your love,
to be cradled in sweet delicate human arms.

instead you feel as though
no human arms can hold you,
because you are a shell corpse
with a conscience and some appearance.
like you're impersonating someone,
with the disease as the main body
human is second in command.

learning to surrender your body
unwillingly
is not easy.

it's learning to be dependent.
it's learning to know you aren't always in control.
it's learning to acknowledge your aren't always okay,
and learning to be okay with that.

i wanna hurt.
maybe me,
maybe someone else.
but it's all i know,
and i want familiarity.

I knew I was numbered from 1-18
when you were on a 1-100 scale.
I knew I couldn't see the stars paint the sky again, but they could see me.
maybe that was enough.

I knew it wasn't,
we
knew it wasn't.

god I can feel your eyes pour into my body while you watch me sleep
following every skin line down to the bone

I feel naked
despite I'm fully clothed
and covered in a blanket.

I can feel you reading my muscle movements like they're pages and I'm the book
I can feel your ears trying to pick up the sound of my heart
and you say it beats hard

and I tell you
of course it does
it's trying to keep me alive
and that's hard
but I'm not even lying
because it's hard to keep myself sane
while you're ******* me with your mind and holding my heart with your eyes
while you're tracing my razor sharp burning edges with your gentle and soft fingers
while you're trying to cover me with your eyes
and I haven't even moved a muscle since I fell asleep in your arms.

I used to
count
the days between when he
yelled at me
and when he didn't.
when he asked for ***
when he asked me to
leave my home
at 2 am
to **** me.
though I said no.

when he used to tell me
that what God I believed
was stupid
and wrong
and it was
why
I was so ignorant.
close minded
small
and insignificant

that if my health
wasn't as bad
as his sister's friend,
it didn't matter.
because someone else was suffering
so I don't need help.
not my physical body
that was spontaneously trying to die
mattered at all.

but he would need it if he wanted *** again anyways.

"I don't know" was not no.
"I don't want to" wasn't no.
that if it was said two weeks ago
didn't count now
then it still wasn't a
no.

I wasn't to be trusted.
so track my location,
track what I said to any ears
that weren't yours
"is she lying?"
"is she cheating?"
"is she gone?"

he would yell and yell and yell at me until I was bawling on my tile floor
wondering when I could ever be happy again
with a thousand diseases and the pressure
of giving that diseased body to you.

because you would need it if you wanted *** again anyways.

because even though you were absolute trash
but I believed you were God
I ended up asking myself,
"if he can't love me,
who will?"
if even garbage
doesn't want me,
what
will want me?

who will want me?

I'm less than garbage.
now,
I'm less
than
you.