Beggars can’t be choosers, right?
At least that’s what they say
Why do I fear the only thing I’ve ever craved?
I think that I’d do anything for love, to be loved.
Maybe what I mean is that I’d do anything to be held.
Even if it is at the other end of their knife.
Though, I fear touch too.
To have value? To be of use?
Of use. A familiar place I’ve grown up in.
What’s a few more impressions on my skin.
On this body, this grave.
I miss pretending to be loved.
Drawing up excuses for every push and shove.
I miss pretending that I didn’t hear him say her name.
I miss rewriting what happened back in May.
It’s all in my head, I’m lying, that’s not what I meant, that never happened.
I’ll forget the glimpses in and out of consciousness.
I’ve always been good for satisfying urges.
Maybe that’s all I’ll ever be.
A familiar place I’ve grown up in.
I ran away from that once,
Only to end up in the arms of that same existence.
But, I loved pretending to be loved. I did.
He could do — and I could be — anything he wanted.
Why wasn’t that enough? Why am I never enough?
But I was too much. Wasn’t I?
A shapeshifter for any desire.
A doormat, a punching bag, a body, a toy.
A passing time for when he was bored.
Stop it. He didn’t want you.
I miss pretending to be loved.
The in between of it all.
Even if sometimes it only served as a trail to a bed.
The periods of consolation and reparation.
I craved the pain inflicted.
Never minding the wounds on my flesh, because he was there compensating for the mess.
He could do whatever he wanted, I wanted him to do whatever he wanted.
Because when morning came, so did the kindest man I’d ever known.
Why am I still living in my father’s home?
I miss pretending to be loved.
To be held, even if it’s in between their teeth.
A dog on a leash, taken to be put down.
Wagging its tail the whole way there.
Happy to be a part, of use, held, pet.
I miss pretending to be loved.
titsay
vaporwave
jbbartram-illu
andulkaphoto
