just let me get this off my chest.

the moment our bodies touched,

i knew something was wrong.

my legs hugging your waist just didn’t fit.

but instead of laughing it off

and making an excuse to leave,

i stayed.

i guess i was lonely.

i guess i hate you now.

i honestly can’t tell

if anything i feel is real anymore. how much is a reaction, and

how much is genuinely whole?

i am suffering.

i wish i could

flush this beating in my chest away.

how can our bodies feel things without our permission?

what good is wanting you for?

i’m cracked open again. i’m tired.

i’m grateful—there are so many things to be grateful for.

but when i close my eyes,

i feel sunken in.

i don’t even

remember why it hurts.