death by paper cut

december addict

it is december. i know it because i feel the ache of last year rooted in my belly; a sick unnerving feeling knit tightly. the lights of the christmas tree will be my undoing. the spool slipping and fluorescent yarn lightning inside me.
it's been almost over a year, and you still haven't learned to love me. and i don't blame you. not in a self pity way, but because i know everything about myself. and yet still know nothing. i have always been this body. always been these arms and legs. not quite gawky or dangly, but still something men peer at. overlooking me as if i've stolen their wallet, or their heart. hate and love. i am not someone that you think lightly of. yet, he was always indifferent. that's what killed me the most.

mostly, i just wish i was good. and clean.