Tay ♔

Barefoot or first thing in the morning, I feel beautiful. I didn’t always feel that way, but I feel that way now. When somebody just loves you, and when you make somebody else happy, when your presence seems to make them happy, you suddenly feel like the most beautiful person in the world.

I understood myself only after I destroyed myself. And only in the process of fixing myself, did I know who I really was.

one time he and i were sitting in bed and i said “where do you feel stuff?” and he said “what do you mean” and i said, “here is anxiety” and pointed to my bottom left rib where the spiders start. he pointed to his throat. “it’s here for me.” 

i told you i would burn down the temples i built if it meant for one moment i was holy to you. i said i would die for you. we knew each other’s lips so well that i could tell the future by reading it off of your tongue. beside you, i was whole for once.  you took my hand and pressed it into your solar plexus. you asked me to be a hero for you. someone unbreakable. you were relentless. you spoke of a world outside, of being legends, i spoke of  world of just two of us and a box of count chocoula and laughter. you told me that the bad parts of me made you sick, i told you that i couldn’t escape from them, you asked me how hard i’d been running. my scars make you wish for clean skin. the tangles in my heart are briar patches you get stuck in. i was foolish. i thought maybe you’d fall for my flaws the way i fell for you. i thought you’d look at me the way i look at you: this terribly perfectly messed up human, all full of bad past, but still good, too. i told you i would burn it all down for you. i just never expected you to actually ask me to.

those fingers that clutched so desperately to my hips never held onto the rest of me. i wish they would have made fists, that you would have fought for me.  that tongue that traveled along my collarbones never called me, never spoke my name in reverence. those teeth that gripped the softness of my neck never seemed to form around a compliment. you knew plenty about roughness, about bruises, were fine with getting my hair in a mess - just couldn’t stand morning after, tenderness, actually giving a shit. yeah, you were fine with our nights where we chewed fire, drank from volcanoes. you just hated the rainstorms of the rest of it. those hands have held me down and scrambled for purchase and settled around my throat but no matter how much they used my body, you never let them build a home.