your smeared ink
washes off my finger
in an instant, but that
doesn’t mean i have
forgotten it was there.
i switch my lights from
white to blue and
picture a time when i was
actually happy being
around you.
tell me i’m pretty and
tell me i’m special and
tell me you love me
even when we
both don’t believe it.
i stand naked in front of
my mirror and press my
fingers against my stomach.
turn sideways,
breath,
frown,
suck in.
my head throbs
as i fog up the
glass as the
shower warms up,
erasing my reflection
piece by piece,
limb by limb,
aching, spinning,
cracking, splintering,
until i’m not sure
how to feel
as my entire
image disappears.
i draw
every insecurity i
have and
pick them off like
eyelashes;
short bursts of
pain erupt from
tender spots, and i’m
always afraid that
they’ll never be
replaced.
i regret
every moment
i should've kissed you
but i was too afraid of
being pushed away.