love me?
i need to make up a complaint to you, just so i can hear your words rush over me, like smooth river stones. want to feel your fingers worry over where my knee is torn open. i need to tell you my mouth hurts and i need you to kiss it better. i don't know how much more of this i can take.
i want to tell you it hurts so you can gather up all the bad stuff in your hands, pull it out of me like a thread. i want you to lobotomise me. i don't want to be able to think. if you loved me, i want to tell you, you would end it all. you would ball up your fist in my head of hair and slam me into the ground until all i can taste is my blood and the hot hot concrete. you would kick me to the curb if you knew what was good for me.
i'm so tired. i want to tell you. im so so tired and i want you to tuck me in and curl up beside me, want to feel your chest hot against my back and i want it to burn me alive.
i don't want you to take pity on me. tell me my haircut doesn't suit me, tell me i'm too thin and the ways my bones jut out disgust you. tell me that my sharp elbows and my sharp hips and my protruding ribs do make it hard to hold me, just like my curved spine does. tell me my poems are bad and my writing is worse, and tell me my art is cliche. tell me i'm not as smart as i think, im not as pretty as i think, and this is all just a pity fuck for you, even though you don't fuck me and i don't want you to. all of this emotion is harder to dismiss. i love you. i don't want you to.