I walked
through piles of words
in too short boots
that left them room
to slip in with every step I take
and melt into puddles
under my heels
from the
never yielding eyes
of fruit flies
that cling to the past
and break down the
reputations
of girls with too many doubts
hidden by perfect eye liner
and impeccably
arranged
sentences that imitate everything
they've read about confidence
picking at my skin and
too short hair
and wondering what
my jeans ,that are too loose,
would look like crumpled
on the floor
where your hands
sometimes go
when its just the two of us
and draw diagrams
of each and every inch
of my chest
with their loud voices
and I crawl inside
myself and disappear
and now I carry
this little piece of
panic
under my heart
that radiates through
my arms and into my fingers
and she's named whore
and she gets a little bigger
every time you make me smile
and she replaces every one
of my cells with
guilt
and worry
and no matter how hard
I scrub
she sticks on every inch of me
like ink tattooed into my too young skin
and sometimes my skeleton
gets sea sick
trapped inside itself
and my socks
drenched in eyes that watch my
every step
and breath
and doubt
and your hands that
hold mine a little too tight
take too long to dry
Comments
Log in or register to post comments.