I pull at my fingers, twisting and knotting them
around each other before sinking my hands
into the dough I’ve left out on the counter.
I do not have my mother’s hands for baking
or my grandmother’s fingers for sewing-
I have hands meant for searching,
my fingers locked in ‘L’ formations
to help me remember my left and my right.
It’s true that I got tired of holding a compass,
so I had one etched into my skin-
not to point me north, but to remind myself
to keep looking for home
in the things I can touch.
Do not fall in love with people like me.
I will take you to
museums, and parks, and monuments,
and kiss you in every beautiful
place, so that you can
never go back to them
without tasting me
like blood in your mouth.
I will destroy you in the most
beautiful way possible.
And when I leave
you will finally understand,
why storms are named after people.
Dripping water hollows out stone, not through force but through persistence.
I don’t give a shit about grand gestures or flowers at my door, I just want your teeth across my neck and my lips pressed to the small of your back, I want your stupid fucking sense of humour making me laugh at 4am when I have to be up at 6.
If you’re feeling small today I dare you to sit up straighter, look someone who scares you directly in the eye, take up room at the dinner table, make yourself bigger, when ‘sorry’ laps at the back of your tongue, tries to pick up after you, remind yourself that your existence doesn’t demand an apology, that you are allowed to make mess and take up space, do not be afraid to expand. Every single goddamn minute. Expand, expand, expand
How could I know you fit my body like a glove? You’re destroying me. You’re good for me. You’re destroying me. You’re good for me.
I have time. Please, devour me.