Never enough or too fucking much. My edges are too rounded and not straight They're odd and not mathematically even Because every man I've ever been with has preferred the golden ratio over my measurements They see me as a 50/50 chance And when happiness fades, I am the choice and never the necessity
I tattoo their names onto my skin while they sneakily draw mine on with permanent marker. Washable. I am able to be washed off.
Love doesn't work like that Love is energy and energy is neither created nor destroyed So where does all of the waste go? The wasted months and weeks and days and years of being something less revered than you should be Always on the bottom of the pyramid because you're holding someone up I bought...NO, I assembled that pedestal I admit to putting you up on But not to worship you, because you are not perfect But to hoist you up and let you see my bigger picture But upon actually staring it in the face, you recoiled Back into your head Back into your fear and your insecurity and inconsistency and not understanding the meaning of what you're feeling
Love is real and love is us and we are real lovers We are not storybook characters We are two parts of a whole
You took a chunk of my heart out the moment you said I loved you So excuse me if I tremble at your fingertips and are weak to your words and quick to jealousy For you still hold a pound of my flesh
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