i will grow on you like weeds in an untended garden. you’ll yank me out in hopes that something beautiful will sprout in my place but it never does. i will slowly seep into the floorboards of your heart until they squeak and buckle. this will be your new home and you cannot afford to leave. i won’t let you.
self-love ii self-love is a journey. sometimes you must take it in the heat of the day. you will find yourself on the side of the road thirsty, sweaty, and out of breath.you will crave instant gratification. you will want to slither your way back to your choice of poison, throw your head back, and take a desperate gulp because their skin is all you know. please don’t. it’s time to learn new things. it’s time to give the loveyou denied yourselfbut frantically searched for in others.it’s time to realize thatlove was never
don’t stay in a moment for too long. you tend to lose yourself. darling, you must be tiredof feeling your way outof the darklong after they’ve left.it’s time to find the light. devotee you can’t make anyone love you no matter how many timesand waysyou lay down your body,your heart,and your worldat their feet. they will only step over youuntil they’re readyfor you to wash their feet with your hair and to set them on fire with your tongue. they can tell by the look in your eyesand the way you surrender when you part your thighsthat you deify them. truth when you find your voice, keep it. hold it close like your very first teddy bear. swell with pridewith each letterpressed against pagesthat broke the leveesin your throat
ordered there is chaos in our bones.grind theminto ashes.cry over them until they’re dissolved.if you’re all cried out,find the nearestbody of waterthat swells in salt.repeat untilthe chaos comes into order.heal.
buried them deep but this book of ache and longing collapsed from its spine and found you and mehiding underneath the weight of the words.it’s time to set these pages free and i don’t give a damn how you feel about it.
when they stop calling,do not take your shoes offand make yourself at home in the corridors of despair.do not beg them to retrace the atlas of your body in hopes they will discover something worthy of exploring and loving.do not resent your reflection or question your worth. you have always been enough.
healing requires every cell in your bodybut i’m so used to dealing with myself in fragments. sometimes i liftthe scab to revisitthe pink flesh of painto feel more alive. i don’t know who i am without this bitterharvest of pain.would i know what peace looked likeif it gently knocked on my heart? would i open the dooror pretend i wasn’t home?