You tell me I'm the oxygen to your lungs.
When you tell me you love me, do you really love all of me?
Tell me, do you love the way I overthink when your replies slow down so suddenly?
The way i isolate myself when I feel another overwhelming episode coming on?
The way I shield my mouth whenever I laugh because I hate the way my smile looks?
The way I shrivel when I see my own reflection?
The way I cover my stomach whenever I sit down as my folds unleash?
The way I physically break down to the idea of you loving someone who isn't me?
Tell me,
Do you truly love me? The unstable side of me who's heart still beats for you? The joyful side of me who loves you just as equally as the precarious version of myself?
If I really were the oxygen to your lungs, how can you breath with no air?
