the art of falling

the human anatomy

this is a long one ((:

i am made up of these things:

one brain, suffocated in ropes that smell of money and petroleum, tied by society as if my generation is the answer to all the problems life throws at us

one heart, beat beat beat thud thud thud crack crack crack under the weight of my inner demons

two lungs, helping me to breathe ( though i don't want to ) yet they feel tainted, perhaps by the poisonous words he likes to call me after he's drunk himself out of depression

skin stomach liver intestines pancreas and anything else in between, worn down by years of sticking by his side even though i will be better off without him

bones, ivory and not broken yet, not quite

and blood that's so, so cold

 i am made up of these things when he comes back home and he stinks of alcohol and impatience and perfume that i will never wear because it makes me feel useless;

and he gives me the look that means he's not satisfied yet

and i melt onto the floor with my bravery and unsaid words of self worth flowing from my eyes in the shape of teardrops

then, one day, afterwards when i try to scrub all the sins off my body i stare into the mirror

my eyes are dull; my lips are chapped and my skin is raw from his fingers trying to scoop me out as if i am a melon; taking my substance out and throwing it away just to get at the sweetness that lies in the feminine grooves of my body

but never in my life have i ever felt more like myself.

because this was the day i met you.

you came up to me with a smile like honey

and i swear i saw the sunlight caught in your corneas

yet still, i wilted like a flower, because what if you were like him?

and even though there were several other places to go, several other people who were more beautiful than i 

even though i told you that i was a lost cause with my gaze

you sat down next to me and asked me what my favourite colour was

i looked you dead in the eye, and i simply said

the colour of your eyes.

and when you told me rather quizzically that your eyes were just plain old brown

i replied that perhaps that was what made them special

because that shade of brown held far more warmth, kindness, love

than anything else i had ever seen

and ever since then, ever since that day

brown has been my favourite colour

i even had begun to like my hair just because it reminded me of you

i saw you every day, and i was just waiting until you realised that i was a ghost inside a broken machine

but no, you talked to me like i meant something

something he had never done and he never would do

and then one night, when the stars surrounded us and the moon hid in your smile, you took my face in your hands and you kissed me.

just simply kissed me, as if i was an empty canvas just waiting to be painted with the pastel hues of your love

and i melted again, but in a different way.

of course, he found out. he always did.

he saw the present you left for me on the satiny skin of my neck

and he opened his mouth to call me names that cut me up and hung me in the sky to be laughed at by the world

but this time i didn't let him

from my lips came the fiery storm of things i was too afraid to say

you treated me like shit

you cheat, lie, rob me of my soul

and i am done pretending that i do not despise you

and even though doing that brought fresh, raw tears to my face and made me run away like a coward

i ran straight into your arms.

now i am made up of these things:

one brain, still trapped in the cage of society but no longer tied down, instead flying on the sensation of your lips on mine

one heart, beat beat beat thud thud thud burst burst burst from the happiness that only you could bring me

two lungs, helping me to breathe ( and i want to forever ) and inside them bloom all the flowers of pretty poems you whispered in my ears

skin stomach liver intestines pancreas and anything else in between, fresh and new and galactic because when i am with you i am a child of the moon and the lover of the stars that dust your face

bones, ivory and no longer worn down by his comments about me that burn like acid

and blood that's so, so warm

i still see him around sometimes, 

and she stares at me with a hollow, stricken face

so i call out to her that he's not worth it

and i hope she listens

because now i know that what we had wasn't love

and you helped me see that

and for that,

i thank you.

this wasn't great )): i gotta fix my poetry