maybe in another life,
maybe with another name.

maybe in a different world
with different rules.

maybe with a kinder past
a safer present,  
and a brighter future.

maybe in a corner of my heart,
tucked so far down in my soul
that I'll be able to pretend
to forget that it is there.

maybe then I can love you,
as I wish to.

Bury me with her.
So that when flesh falls off our bodies
and only smooth bone remains,
I will be whole again.

I wish I was brave
I wish that the fear that lives in my bones
Wasn't so comfortable, didn't feel so safe.
I wish my dreams could become flesh
All of their own accord,
Instead of me having to breathe life into them.
I wish I didn't think so little of myself,
That I saw what others see.
So that I could believe enough,
Enough to make them come true.
I wish I was more.
I wish I'd want less.
I wish I was brave.

Sometimes I want to feel pretty.
To have frothy fabric slide over my hips,
To feel the catch in my breath
As lace and silk hold my waist tightly.
To walk, no...to glide along with grace.
To have the breeze tickle my bare thighs
And kiss the tops of my *******.

And for a moment I am.
Pretty, I mean.
The confidence makes me giddy
My smile is bright as I look ahead.
I do not shy away from the world's eyes,
Instead I lean into its gaze.

But sometimes I don't want to be pretty.
Sometimes when I walk down the street
I fight the urge to rip my ******* from me,
And throw them at the starving pack of wolves
That whistle as I walk by.

Sometimes I want to cloak my form.
To hide in shadow and fabric.
To keep my eyes on the ground
As fear, not lace, steals my ability to breathe.

Sometimes ugly is a shield that I wear,
That keeps me safe, not from harm
But from blame.
Ugly means it wasn't my fault,
Ugly means I didn't ask for it,
Ugly means they might not pick me to...

And even then, despite the risk
Sometimes, I want to feel pretty.
Maybe not be pretty.
But feel pretty.

So we sit in our wooden towers
Watching the world burn.
Pretending as though our indifference
Did not fan the very flames
That will eventually come
And turn us to cinders.

You have ripped me apart
In the most beautiful way,
So much so that I relish it.
I revel in the process of picking up my pieces.

Knowing that when I am somewhat whole again,
You will strike light lightning.
And burn through the fabric of who I am,
And shatter the mosaic I have made my life.
And when the flames clear
And the ashes cool, I will be alone.
To gather whatever bits of me survive you this time.

I like to pretend.
That I can fix myself enough
Again and again.
So you could break me,
For all eternity.

But deep down we both know,
That one day the flames will clear,
And the ashes will cool,
And there will be nothing left to pick up.