By
Updated 6 years ago,October 6, 2019
Cigarette smoke.
The purple staining the skin under your eyes.
How I swore the violet would stain my fingers if I reached out to touch.
Flora Westbrook
The way you painted me in the same shade with your hands, your belt, and other things.
I never had a future with you.
All those nights you didnt stay.
All those nights you didnt ask me to.
Feeling loved at the cost of feeling used.
Arranging and rearranging myself just for you.
Keeping secrets from the people I loved the most.
Being your dirtiest one.
Living in the shadows for you.
Turning into something I loathed a woman who would hurt another, the same way I had been hurt.
Being your gratuitous whore.
All the poetry that should have never been.
Our love was cheap.
Our love wasnt love.
It wasnt your heart, but your body, that knew how to love me.
You didnt care for any part of me that could not be felt skin to skin.
Never being good enough.
My worth measured only in sex.
All of the things I never heard you say.
All the promises you made we both knew you would always break.
The wine we drank was cheap, so was your talk, have I mentioned our love was cheaper?
Dreaming of alternate universes.
Losing myself waiting for you.
What kind of a devout were you?
How you made me forget that I was the one out ofyourreach.
You made me forget a lot of things.
But mostly you just made me sad.
How I would hate myself for still wanting to feel your eyes on me.
Your hands around my throat.
The welts on my ass.
Your palm striking my jaw.
The way I came the first time you slapped me across the face.
I mistook your vehement touch as passion; behind it there was only emptiness.
How you just wanted to own me without any of the responsibility.
How all I ever wanted was to be someone who mattered.
Me in a river.
You a stone in my pocket.
I dont carry you anymore.
