My heart instead of glass
he stepped on it.
I wanted to love this best-friend
and be loved by him.
Think I spent too many years on the mend
for paper thin strength, and these paper thin scars –
Fell desperately in need again.
A fellow cold as scales, blowing
forked nicotine trails said a girl like me
was only ever good enough to fuck.
I believed him but never stepped foot
in his dorm. Never gave him that
virgin’s notch. Still I longed;
humans aren’t meant to be alone
and loneliness I feared more than he
I clung to despite Machiavellian ties,
his honeyed lies. Never turned my flesh
blue but skinned me raw in other ways –
Reduced to debris in flood water, I floated
away. When I was six I oft dreamt of drowning,
ever drowning. Sick to death of love, of hurt, of
settling in the many folds of intersectionality like grime
‘til the wordsmith said ‘hi’. And in him was goodness.
The twisted, forlorn voices that were mine
shrunk to nothingness. He rock, paper, scissor a path
to knowing me in flux. Electrifying poetic blue eyes reached
into the mess, into the shifting ruins of myself, coloured
a world where I was more than foreign; a dirty secret, undeserving. I became human. A woman to taste the seasons now. He calls me gorgeous every day. ©