I have acne on my skin.
Four dollars to my name.
A rumble on the right side of my car.
Stretch marks on my body like scars.
Hair that won’t hold a curl.
Shame that dances in my stomach in a twirl.
Do you think you could love me just like this?
I’m just a girl.
After all.
–S.
My heart is a house of mirrors.
Dark, but it still glimmers.
Haunted, but it still shimmers.
You can adjust the light, like dimmers.
–S.
Are you Frankenstein, a zombie, or a ghoul?
I’m a lovesick fool.
Are you a chainsaw wielding killer or a vampire?
I’m romantic satire.
Are you a character from a cartoon or a movie?
I’m feeling more Beast, less Beauty.
Are you supposed to be alive or dead?
I’m filled with dread.
Are you covered in blood or guts?
I feel like I’m covered in cuts.
–S.
I’ll always be the one you left.
The one who knew you best.
The one who loved you to rest.
The one whose head fit just right on your chest.
The one whose life you were able to infest.
You’ll always be the one that hurt me the worst.
The one who let me thirst.
The one who was my first.
The one whose hurt I nursed.
The one who made me jump headfirst.
–S.
I was always too deep for a love so shallow.
I was always too deep for a person so hollow.
I was always too deep for you to swallow.
I’ll still be too deep for you tomorrow,
and you’ll always be the boy filled with nothing but sorrow.
–S.
You were always leaving.
We didn’t even last four seasons.
Looking for reasons,
for your treason.
You were always leaving,
Now it’s time for some grieving.
–S.
My favorite number is eleven.
You left me on the seventh.
Back to one,
only a pair has two.
My birthday month is May.
Oh, five.
No rhyming words or equations could ever have made you stay.
–S.
Broken.
Poison.
Frozen.
Open.
Ocean.
Motion.
Chosen.
Woven.
Golden.
–S.
You’re a masterpiece.
You bring others peace.
No bitterness, you bring release.
You do everything with ease.
No appetizer, you’re a whole feast.
A new outlook, a new lease.
Ironed, not a single crease.
You make melancholy cease.
You’re a masterpiece.
–S.
I wait for you.
Like I think I’m supposed to.
You dropped me off one day,
and now it’s way past curfew.
Days pass, weeks, and eventually months too.
I sit like I’m in a church pew.
Who is coming for my rescue?
Am I still on your menu?
If you’ve crossed the ocean,
I can make it by canoe.
I wait for you.
Like I thought I was supposed to.
You were never coming back, were you?
–S.
The Messy Middle 🖤 