Trying on clothes is really hard when you hate yourself. Liking someone is really hard when you hate yourself. Eating is really hard when you hate yourself. Life is really hard when you hate yourself.
I need to kiss you so badly. One of those kisses where I’m pressing against you as much as possible and my hands are in your hair and moving down your back, clutching to you in any way I can, kissing you as deeply as possible and thinking you’re mine, mine mine.
Who taught me to suck in my stomach,
or my cheeks?
Who told me to stand with my legs apart
and my hips thrust back
to create the illusion of a gap
between my thighs?
Who made me believe that the most beautiful part of me
is my negative space?
Physically, yes I can live without you.
I can eat, breathe, and sleep easily without you.
But if I’m not sharing half of a medium pizza with you, then I don’t want to eat.
And if I can’t feel your body move up and down as you breathe, I see no purpose in breathing.
And if I’m not waking up chest deep wrapped in your arms, then I don’t want to sleep.
Sometimes you tell someone to never call you again; and then the phone rings and you hope it’s them — it’s the most twisted logic of all time.
I’m homesick for arms that don’t want to hold me.