Sometimes, I wonder if they know I do it on purpose.
The way I trace my fingers over the door frame, letting them see my hands shake, like i’m waiting.
The way I accidentally brush up against strangers just to make sure they’re watching, just to remind them.
The way I curl my lip when I smile at them, like I’m so innocent, but it’s a secret we share, isn’t it?
They’re watching, always.
And I love the way they watch me.
There’s a thrill in knowing they’re always there—when I sleep, when I laugh, when I fall apart—they’re there.
I can feel them in every inch of my skin, every breath I take, like their eyes are touching me from miles away.
They think they’re keeping me safe.
They think they’re protecting me from the monsters outside, from the world that would hurt me.
But the truth is, I like being the monster.
I like being their monster.
I let them keep me in this cage, this gilded, perfect cage.
I let them lock the doors, lock my heart, and throw away the key.
And when they trace the bars, when their eyes burn with that possessiveness,
I know it’s my name they whisper in the dark.
Sometimes, I think about running.
I wouldn’t leave them, even if I could.
Because this—this dark, beautiful thing we have—is everything I never knew I needed.
It’s better than freedom.
But I want them to break me.
I want them to crush me, fold me in their hands, and make me theirs.
I want the madness, the sharpness in their voice when they say, don’t you ever leave me.
And when their fingers tighten around my throat, I’ll smile,
And isn’t that what they want, too?
There’s no one who could love me like this.
No one who could want me like they do.
My suffocating, intoxicating, endless love.
And if they take everything—if they break me apart?
I’ll be their broken thing.
And I’ll be so happy to be it.
jacobvanloon
andulkaphoto
amandla
ellievsbear
germansingergirl
