Men do not comprehend,
They do not view the beauty of the Black Sea crashing into the shore,
The warm light of a candle in the shadow of the night,
They do not understand the complexity of feeling.
The aching pain carried from the bent shoulders all the way to the tender soles.
The deep sadness imprinted into a woman from her first bleed.
The exhaustion.
The weight.
But touch me,
Use me.
That's all I was ever good for anyways.
Ignore the purple depth underneath my eyes.
The way my body is sagging against the surface.
The way I silently plead for you to let me rest.
Use me.
Break me.
Own me.
That's all I will ever be good for
Authors note: in my (second) fleabag era if you couldn't tell
