I breathe you in
like smoke.
You settle in my lungs,
my veins,
my soul.
I touch you
and I see things
no one else has seen.
You raise your feathered wings
and wrap me
in ecstasy.
You wipe away the rust
that covers me
from years spent living
in my own rain.
Every kiss is never
enough.
Every look is always too
short.
You've brought down the Heavens
and made a home for just us.
I pick the feathers from my hair
and make a crown fit for a Queen.
I will spend the rest of my life
learning to fly
by your side.

Ugly is
safe.
Ugly is
not getting whistled at
on the street.
Ugly is
being ignored by
the wandering hands
of the drunk man
next to me on
his bar stool.
Ugly is
"yeah, she's a really great friend,
but not really girlfriend material".
Ugly is
5 a.m. tears and
7 a.m. bloodshot eyes.
Ugly is
quiet and
small.
Never speaking up.
Desperate for
the worst kind of attention.
Ugly is
loving you
and hating
myself.

Fat.
The word falls from your lips
like venom.
I know your throat burns every time
you say it.
I see the tears you try to brush off.
Fat.
Because what could be worse, right?
You could be mean,
or selfish,
or violent.
But no, you had to be
Fat.
If only you knew the years I've spent
learning to love every single inch of me,
teaching myself that "fat" is not a
curse word.
Years spent undoing long nights
that I've stayed awake,
sobbing,
praying to every god I knew
that I could wake up and be
skinny.
You tell me I am beautiful.
You promise me
that you have eyes for
no one else.
But I know your eyes lust for
thin.

When I’m sober I’m
so good,
so high on myself.
I talk to my friends and
I love that they love me
just the way I am.
But right now I’m drunk
and I’m falling in love
with all my exes,
all the people who are
poisonous.
I need validation
so I text boys who
I know will get off
on my words, on the
pictures I send them.
I have a whole list of their numbers
for nights like these.
I don’t even know
if they’d recognize me
in the morning.
I don’t even recognize myself
as I delete messages,
words, feelings.
No one will ever know
all the things I crave
if they don’t know me
sober.

The first time
you said you loved
me, it was as if
I had been pulled aboard
a life raft after being
lost at sea. But
I see now that this
raft is littered with
holes and
we are sinking, but
you are convinced
that your love is a
teacup to scoop out
the water pooling around
my ankles and you will save
us, but the teacup has a crack
down one side and
do you see where I
am going with this?
A tablespoon of water
will never put out
a forest fire; I am burning
through acres.