I hate that you're depressed
because
you are so
beautiful.

I do love you,
even if
we just met.

You are perfect.
Those scars on your
thighs
are
destroying
you.

I hate how it
Poisons your
Bloodstream,
Making you cut open
your skin
in ribbons.

Stop

Please stop.

I can't fall asleep
On those nights
When I
Don't even know
If you'll be here
When I wake up.

Those nights
Are
All nights.

He came to my house
Wearing his dark jacket and
Cold fingers
With no prior notice.

The doorbell echoed at
Nine oh six
And my mom said she'd get it.

I was watching Netflix
And shoveling semi-melty
Ice cream into my mouth.

He said hi to my mom
And he rushed up the stairs
Into my laundry-flooded bedroom

He wrapped his arms around me
So tight that I wasn't keen to let go.

He smelled like bitter outside
And broken trees
And choking regret.

I smelled like
Fake roses
And ***** pajamas
That were freshly cried into.

My shirt sleeves were wet.

When he kissed me,
I tasted like
The aftermath of
Black cherries
And sad music.

He tasted like love.

I'm sorry
That I text you
At four a.m.
When
I
Can't
Breathe
Because of
Anxiety attacks.

I'm sorry that
I can't make serious phone calls
Or order at Subway
Around the corner,
Even though I know
I like thinly sliced turkey
And chipotle dressing.

I'm sorry that
I forget things like
Birthdays and middle names
And I'm sorry
That I don't know how to
Kiss.

I'm sorry
That you think
When I don't take a compliment
I'm fishing for you
To keep going,
Because in my rotting skull
That option
Isn't even possible.

I'm sorry.
So sorry.
That if you're
Nice to me
I will never
Ever
Believe you
Actually like me.

They say the eyes are the
     window to the soul,
        I say looking through
can make you lose control.
     Climb through to depths
            you can't imagine
        and you'll discover
   the sunshine within,
        and a love so **genuine.

Being told you are beautiful
Is one thing
But being told you are beautiful
And believing it
Is another

I have been called beautiful
More times than there are freckles on my face
(And that is a lot)
But not until recent
Did I ever believe it

Usually I would brush it off
And see it as an empty compliment
Or a conversation filler
Or a device used for personal gain
Any time someone would tell me I was beautiful
I wouldn't believe it
Not even a little bit
And that's the way it was for a very long time

I was too used to people leaving
Especially after I let them get close to me
And touch me
I was too used to being let down
I couldn't trust anyone but myself
And I didn't think I was beautiful
With or without anyone's truthful or deceiving opinion
I truly thought I was the farthest from beautiful

Usually when people would give me such a compliment
I would say
"No, I'm not
And you don't mean that"
Most didn't bother to argue
So I never once believed it
Until I heard you say it

At first I tried to do what I always did
But you wouldn't take no for an answer

I'm not sure if it's the way you say it
Or how many times a day you say it
Or just the fact that I trust you enough
But I really do believe you
When you tell me I'm beautiful
Hearing the words, "You are so beautiful, Evynne"
And feeling the honesty and passion pierce my heart
Is something I have never experienced before

I may not think I am as beautiful as you like to tell me I am
But at least I believe it
And when I say I believe it
I do not mean I agree
But rather, you tell me I am beautiful
And I think to myself, "You really do make me feel beautiful"
Regardless of any prior opinions I held of myself

Now that is a very powerful thing

Darling,
you're much more than
those three little words.