And I will fall for you all over again
Like a child learning to walk.
I will kiss my scraped palms
And dust off my bruised knees
And I’ll love you harder than I did before
Because we are not the same people
We were five days ago.
And I will always adapt to who you are today
And love you the right way.
— Everything changes but I’ll always love you.

When I was a little girl I picked at my scabs.
I was obsessed with watching the wounds close after each time I'd pick at it scab. It was watching time do it's thing: heal.
I never quite understood how it even worked or what my skin was even doing.
Now I know that scabs are just clusters of skin cells and dry blood that patch up the wound, and soon it'll be nothing but a small mark on my knee cap.

That's exactly what I did after you left.
I kept picking at the pieces of me that you left, untouched
and I ripped them apart and picked at parts of me to try and find answers
I kept coming back to see if maybe this time things would change or if those parts of me would get smaller of heal faster
but they never did.

My dad would watch me on the front steps of his house pick at my scabs and say
I was better off if I'd kick the habit.
Maybe I finally will.

it's the emotional
strip-tease,
the tingling,
depressions hand
on your thighs,
his skin is soothing
enough but his
nails curve red moons
into those pretty
little girl tights.
they ******* so well,
anxieties got a
mean eye,
for the girls with
insecurities,
they're the most fun,
swallowing back
their screams, saving
them for the
bedroom at night.
you find them in
the morning teasing
the pill bottle,
they got a will to live
stuck in their throat.
doctors say there's a
heartbeat but
no heart.
all their red dresses
over the floor,
the first of many
warning signs,
red dresses to funerals,
red dresses to slide
down the underbelly
of dissatisfaction.
they sleep without love,
exhaling demons on
the balcony, until
they burn like stubs
in their eyes.