"i’m not sure what i spend more time doing:
wondering why he wants me around,
or figuring out why you never did.”
i met him on a hot day in august. he was (and still is) nothing special. but i, i loved myself then— i had walls built so high they could’ve been a landmark, a destination unworthy of him. i was an obstacle unconquered, untouched by any man who hated himself so much that he needed a second body to inhabit his loathing. turns out, walls are no match for wrecking balls, and in time i crumbled. it wasn’t the worst thing that could happen, though, and i so blindly believed that he could fix it. but sometimes when i sleep, i can still feel the paper clips and duct tape scratching against my bones.
see, i’m nothing short of loyal. used to, when the next boy i fell in love with slept, i would sneak under his skin and plant flowers in his ribcage. it was the only way i knew how to put down any roots. i watched the vines wrap around his bones, and i imagined someday buying a house for us. i thought of repotting those flowers in our front yard just to show how far we had come. but his insides, they were derelict— didn’t take too kindly to sad girls on a mission to fix what someone else broke. when the flowers wilted, he told me it wasn’t my fault, that they just needed some sunshine. i told him i didn’t think he would find it between my legs, but he kept searching, and i was so desperate for that white picket fence, that goddamn garden, i couldn’t tell him no. needless to say, eventually, there was nothing left to grow.
(i asked a friend if i make myself too available. she told me i am like a lock that turns for every key without a home. i have track marks from shooting up everyone else’s problems, but it’s easy to forget i am alive when my heart is not beating for other people.)
when he kisses me i feel dizzy and the force of his gaze knocks me off my feet; he looks at me as though he is excavating all my bad thoughts and locking them so securely away that i will never be able to dig them back up. when he is inside of me, i still feel as innocent as when i thought a garden would make that boy love me back. sometimes when i wake up before him, i trace birds into his skin and imagine them coming to life and flying away with all my doubts. but then he stirs, and i watch his eyes adjust, widen, settle, like he can’t quite believe i am still there, and i wonder what i will do when he leaves me. but for now, i breathe easy; at night, when i know he can’t hear me, i thank him for teaching me that i no longer have to hate myself in the name of loving somebody else.
saturday night wine and selfies what up tumblr