He skimmed and slipped over
Your skin, which he wished
Was his to touch; he stitched
His hand to yours and gripped

So hard you felt your bones,
Crush, curdle, you plead, don't let go
But he did, he tore away
Two weaved hands, they bled that day

Raw, afraid, with dread you felt
Your way through the darkness in which you dwelt
The hand it scarred, it left its marks
On the walls you scraped, bled, dried and marred

The skin we are in

is first formed
then stretched
then dried and shrivelled
then decomposed
and eaten by worms.

Lasting beauty is a legacy,
not a face.

Know your water from your air,
The batted lashes from that gorgeous hair
Believe in those words & the way they fall
Trust the posture, don’t misread the sprawl

Sometimes
late at night,
I go into my bathroom
and I look in the mirror
and smile. Because it is
the one time I ever feel truly
beautiful. Just me with my messy
bun and smudged eyeliner. And I am
glorious. Just who I was meant to be.
I am beautiful.

The rain from above
The wind in the trees
What a beautiful day
With a beautiful breeze