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.
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.
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.
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.
The reality,
of this catastrophe,
is you’re bad for me,
but I don’t want to be set free.
–S.
I run.
I turn every corner.
Mix up the number of lefts,
and the number of rights.
Down the hills,
and up the stairs in flights.
I run,
but it doesn’t matter how many turns,
or how fast – even when my sides burn,
because I always run right into myself.
I change up the paths, but they’re never any help.
–S.
Do you think you could love me just like this?
with acne scars that are hard not to notice.
Do you think you could love me just like this?
with internal monologues that don’t lean towards bliss.
Do you think you could love me just like this?
with eyes reflecting murky brown irises.
Do you think you could love me just like this?
with big wrists.
Do you think you could love me just like this?
with a tendency to vanish.
Do you think you could love me just like this?
Oh, how I wish.
–S.
I open my purse, and all that is left is a sigh.
In the pocket, a voice whispering why.
In a tin, a few tears collected from a recent cry.
And a list,
with lie,
after lie,
after lie.
–S.
Unrequited,
can we quiet,
all the voices in my head?
Unrequited,
can we quiet,
the feelings I have for you instead?
Unrequited,
can we quiet,
all the shit that we ever said?
Unrequited,
can we quiet,
the fantasies of you in my head?
Unrequited,
can we quiet,
never mind, I just want it all dead.
–S.
The Messy Middle 🖤 