Bones
Protruding
Like scars
From under
My skin
Wanting
To be more
of me
Than what
   They
Deserve

when we used to speak, i found comfort in saying whatever i so thought
i looked forward to spilling the contents of my brain into the open air,
allowing you to take in the sights and sounds of the sentences my lips were forming around

when we speak now, all i feel is a glass sheet sat on the tops of my teeth waiting to shatter under the pressure
of the conversation
now, i have to be careful with what i say, otherwise,
the shards would find their way down my throat causing nothing but more pain, and more blood

now, when we speak, the words i say feel different against my tongue
they taste metallic and damaging
like lies and betrayal
rather than sweet memories and fairytales
like sugar cubes
and honey

If it were up to me you see, I would've been holding your hands from the beginning.
If it were up to me, pens would feel comfortable between your fingers, poetry would feel natural flowing from your lips
If it were up to me it would feel less of sandpaper and concrete
Instead, more of silk and lollipops to your tongue in the middle of summer
If it were up to me you wouldn't hate summer, you would adore it
If it were up to me you'd look forward to fresh strawberries and mangoes, the wind hot on your face like my breath would be to your chest
Curled up in your arms listening to your heart beat, waiting for you to stop wishing for it to stop
If it were up to me I would lay by your side each night, holding you close, patiently waiting for you to slip into slumber before letting myself do the same
If it were up to me I'd keep you from anything harmful
If it were up to me the sun in the morning would signify survival, not failure
If it were up to me the sunset would paint the sky with reds and oranges and purples every night to give you a reason to keep going
If it were up to me you'd look in the mirror and see the stars in your eyes rather than storms
If it were up to me your cheeks would be stained with loving pink kisses from the sun rather than tears made of salt and self loathing      
If it were up to me you would've held my hands and felt content from the start, rather than grasping onto them hoping to find something
Other
Than
Summer