don't fall in love with the ones who only crave intimacy.
the ones who are there because
they're driven by sweet words and an even sweeter kiss.
and that drive
gets higher,
it gets faster,
as more touch gets involved.
but they only crave intimacy,
while you crave something much more.
don't fall in love with the ones who will touch you
and make you feel like
you're floating,
because soon enough they'll push you to the ground,
leaving you to question everything with nothing but
the bruises and scars on your body
left over from
their touch,
their kisses,
their words.
don't fall in love with the ones who only crave intimacy.
they won't want you how you want them.
trust me,
because I crave intimacy.

Tell my mother I'm sorry
that the love notes I wrote were never for her,
that she never had enough time to actually pay attention to me or what I said,
that she wasted her time tucking me in at night to help me feel loved when it never even helped,
that I stepped on the cracks in the sidewalks so her back was constantly broken  while she was trying to provide
for everyone else but me.

Tell my dad I'm sorry
that I was such a failure that every step I took in the right direction was the wrong one,
that his voice went hoarse but at least he was acknowledging me,
that no matter how many times he left bruises I counted it as a hug,
that he never had time to listen to me,
that he never had time to swallow his pride,
that he never had time to love me.

Tell my siblings I'm sorry
that they never took the time to understand me,
that they'll never know just how easily harsh words can stick in someone's brain,
that I ended up so much like the person they despise,
that I lived up to every negative expectation they had of me.


Tell my friends I'm sorry
that my conditions were some sort of joke,
that I never actually mattered unless they needed something,
that when they replied laughing out loud when I said I was dying they couldn't even recognize I actually was.

And tell my heart I'm sorry
that I forgot how to sew it back together again
when it
stopped
beating.

I take showers to brush off the chill you leave behind when you forget I exist.
The water doesn't hug me quite as tightly as you do,
nor keep me quite as warm
but as I imagine your hold enveloping me while I let the droplets caress my skin,
I feel whole again...
if only for a little while.

The water is getting colder now and you begin to fade away from me.
I just wish you'd stay a little longer,
love me a little harder,
hold me a little stronger
and I beg you please...
Please don't forget my name.

The water is getting even colder now and I no longer feel your grasp.
I keep hoping for you to linger on my skin
but you've already gone again.
Please wear me as a pendant,
tell me you'll never forget my name.

I'm beginning to hold myself and its just not the same.

I am made entirely out of glass, if you look hard enough you can see the cracks gleaming through from my insides and begging you to fix me from the outside in. I am not something to be forgotten and yet I always am. I am put inside that box without newspaper to keep my edges safe or bubble wrap to hold me in place and even still those precautions will never be as secure  as your hands once were to me.
I'm getting colder with every piece of me that bleeds into the abyss and will never be seen again. By the time we get home next I will have lost another piece of me that you once cherished more than yourself. I'm apalled that you just let me fall away from you so easily when you once told me you adored me more than you adored most things. You polished me daily and put me on the highest shelf, I was the largest priority to you until I started falling apart again and you found other statuettes of glass to keep your company as you waited for me to glue myself together again.
But that's not how this works. You can't just collect knick knacks like it's your hobby, and tell them you hold such a substantial amount of affection for them and move onto the next without even telling the prior that you were sorry you broke them but their needs were no longer important... or perhaps never were.
As you caress the curves of every other goddess you set your eyes on and you become overwhelmed by the beauty of them all, I hope you shatter under the pressure like you shattered the rest of us. I hope you come to the realization that the amount of perfection that you receive in that specific juncture is not your decision any longer.

Everything I love will leave me eventually but because of me they would have basked in affection effectively. At least they'll know they were never alone. I have mistakes that I'll never be able to atone for, but my apologizing is all but finished in this world where everything I love  must diminish.

I'm so sick of being broken and you have all my pieces to put me back together in all the correct places. You keep trying to put them in on someone else's vessel and it isn't working no matter how hard you chisel in to try and make it fit. That piece doesn't belong there, not even just one bit.