one meeting I am trying to place. searching for the star that imploded to create the colour of your eyes.
two a.m. and I am scraping at the uneven edges of my skin, peeling back my flesh until I am pink and delicate, just like you told me to be. there, you say, pressing and breathing and lingering in all of the places I am soft, finally.
three times I gasp and my lungs shrivel in defeat, drowning in the dust and dirt and filth that breach the crack in my bedroom window. the cold creeps beneath my flesh and digs into my spine until I am nothing but frozen nerve-endings and chattering teeth. quiet, you insist, nipping at my scratches and cuts before they have a chance to heal, you’re keeping me up.
four sisters I worry will end up with the likes of you. skin crawling and chests heaving and hearts shrinking as they grow inwards and try not to take up anymore of your space. silent. fearful. grey—I am buried beneath a thousand shades of white that I swore I’d never succumb to.
five times my eyes scream Casanova and my heart shouts Liar. you carve your name into my sternum with your blunt, dulling pocketknife like you own me. as if the years spent pumping my own blood and brushing my own hair and licking my own lips mean nothing—as if you have carried me on your back this entire time and I am merely a product of you whispering breathe in, breathe out, get rid of everything between your bones and your skin and shrink into yourself.
six months spent breaking my bones and adjusting the angles of my shoulder blades in order to accommodate your rotting tissue. you whisper pretty girl and I have abandoned the idea that you will ever call me beautiful—grow while I shrivel and ignore the erosion of my fingerprints.
seven words at three a.m. and you still are not listening. I am not you, my vocal cords are greedy after months of being ignored and I am screaming, so stop pretending.
eight times I tell you to leave and the one time you listen.
you will not survive without me.
I cough up the dust and lift my ribcage back into place, fold my skin over my bones and admit that you are right. pink and delicate will never survive without you, so I will be red and powerful and burn away every dirty fingerprint you have left behind.
...
[a/n: don’t let people treat you like shit, ily]
