i.
i don't like being touched by someone who means to be gentle with me. his feather-lightness comes from devotion—i've almost forgotten that a lack of force isn't always the fruit of a halved heart. when he looks at me, i can hear a promise whispered in the air between us. i wonder if he knows that when our pinkies latched, mine was trembling.
ii.
it terrifies me to be seen whole. i've puckered myself into an afterthought and to unravel into something more, something bigger, feels wrong. i feel as though i could jump out of my skin at any moment. maybe then he'd finally discover whether the chameleon sheath was limited to the hide of my flesh. i still can't look him in the eyes because i've turned myself into a prophecy in his cradling Apollonian hands and i fear the altars i'd leap up onto in his name.
iii.
he tucks my stubborn baby hairs behind my ear with a smile curling his lips into the most lovely crescent. he presses quivering butterfly kisses against my cheek. he laughs when our noses bump together as he leans in to kiss me, and somewhere, a fairy takes their first breath. he holds me, sweet and tender, but to be reminded of my embarrassingly pronounced fragility feels malicious more than anything.
iv.
i am paper and i am waiting eagerly for someone to come along and fold me into something beautiful. a crane, a star, a butterfly, a plane. please allow me to soar for a little while before you crease my wings and set me tumbling into what you insist is freedom.
⌖꙳⋆⭒ 𓋜
basically a poem about how men actually terrify me and how i hate how small i shrink myself to be around them. sapphic content will be coming soon hehe dw
