can you hold my head and kiss it?
can you hold my hand and squeeze it?
can you hold my body close to you?
can you stay a little longer?
i won’t say these things to you,
but i hope you’ll do them.
the truth is, i don’t hate affection.
i hate that i receive none of it while
growing up.
i wasn’t getting assurance that everything
will be fine, so i ended up overthinking
things and their (im)possible outcomes.
i wasn’t held when i still know how to cry,
instead i hid and wiped my own face
after hitting myself for being a bad kid.
i wasn’t taught that it’s totally fine to break.
that it’s totally fine to show to people
how badly damaged i am.
if i was, then i wouldn’t have thrown
my broken pieces away after accidentally
crushing myself by the grip of my own hand,
because of the fear of
being scolded.
i don’t hate affection,
i just disguised longing as hatred
so that i will stop
hoping for something that i know
i will never get.
YOU ARE READING
Found This Book Somewhere In The Forest
Poetry"Talk to my soul later midnight, when the moon's at its peak. That's the only way of communication that I know, because my physical lips will stutter if I told you about how I want to tear my human skin apart and go out."
