Late night confessions,
aching of your strong arms
and stirring up thoughts from the deepest parts of the hell your mind runs-
Things that shouldn't be awaken, ever.

The quiet that settles into your skin,
Your steady breath hitching
on every wandering ghost
that runs across your scarred mind.

Turning inside out,
Going delusional with fear
never letting the sleep take you,
sitting up in the pitch black
trying to find your way
and not seeing anything else but you.

You're alone.

Sleepless nights lying awake in bed
trying to get another glimpse of the boy
that stole my heart
hoping that something will end the aching soon
knowing that sleeping will only just make me hurt more
for the dreams are too hard to bear-
they remind me so much
of what I want
but can't have-
at least,
not soon enough.

"I'm not pretty"
You say as someone compliments you.
"I'm not pretty"
You say as you step on the scale.
"I'm not pretty"
You say as you try on those new pants.
"I'm not pretty"
You say as you leave to go on that date.
"I'm not pretty..."

...Yes. You are.
My dear, you are wrong.
When was the last time you've really seen yourself
Past that *one pimple
and the stretch marks on your legs?

You seem to have overlooked
That sparkle in your eyes
When you talk about something you love.

Or how graceful your fingers are
as they skim the keys of the piano,
as they run down your arms
clasping your elbows
and your back arches forward when you're embarrassed.

Or your skin,
that could easily rival
the softness of your favorite cashmere sweater
which fits loosely over your torso,
bunching at your elbows
when you do chores with me
after saying I "don't do it right".

Or your feet
that trek across the creeks with me
when we sneak out every Saturday
so you don't have to go to your uncle's house
when your mom leaves to see her friends.

Do you not even see your lips?
Their rosy color,
their fullness?
The pair you bite when you're nervous or frustrated
that are usually a bit chapped
especially in this chilly weather.

My dear,
You are pretty.
You're beautiful.
Stunning.
Immaculate.
Ravishing.
Please don't say otherwise.

He was the epitome of stay away.
The guns, the knives, the tears, the deliveries.
He was the boy that screamed allurance,
the one that parents told you to stay away from,
the one that no one took the chance with.

But there was something about those eyes,
that smile,
the way he spoke.
That hidden side of him
that he wouldn't show anyone,
but me.
The Adam of the Beast,
The one that held you close and couldn't stand to see you cry,
the one that wrote poems and whispered reassurances in your ear,
the one that performed his own songs on guitar, crooning the night away,
the one sending you roses.

And yet,
Even with the violence and the danger,
I love all of him.

He took away the thorns that itches at my side
and replaced them all with roses
that stood day by day
reminding me that
I
am
loved.