"Perfection exacts a price, but it's the imperfect who pay it."
MaddAddam, Margaret Atwood
i have learned to hate myself
doused in gasoline
self-immolation through coming to know
the light at the end of the tunnel
•
my skin has grown callous
everywhere you have not touched me
everywhere you do not touch me
everywhere you will never touch me again
ignored desire must find a way to survive
the long cold winter of your absence
in the abrasive wake of not being chosen
as if nothing every really mattered at all
these callouses now cover a war with myself
this never-ending longing to touch and be touched
and the realization i ache to read this book with you
so that we can talk and talk and talk and talk
No comments:
Post a Comment