girls. girls.

✗what love isn't about✗

men who love you don't scar your skin
with melancholic constellations;
little girls grow up believing that the
cuts on their wrists and their
bleeding lips are kisses of love 
but, they aren't.

they're flashing red flags of danger;
it is lethal when you mistake it for love.
the girls are hungry to the pit of their stomachs,
asking for the more than just
the same sugary words tossed around
like they weren't worth anything;
the clouds spell their name but, the
rains drip with their sorrowful tales,
they are more than just girls with
broken hearts who never knew
what love should taste like.

tongues lick up the acid as she 
learns to fold her complaints inside
her mouth and seal them up with 
her chapped lips which knew the 
salt of tears all too well.

their raised up fists are not a 
garland of affectionate touches;
open your eyes baby girl, before 
the purple under your eyes
gets darker.

the bottles tucked into their 
palms and the fire in their eyes
don't spill love that's meant 
for your velvet skin;
please realize that the mess 
of bricks you call home isn't
your home and it will never be 
until you realize
that shredded glass under your feet 
and bleeding hands
could never define what your 
life should have been like.

    you don't deserve it; nobody does;
open the eyes that are lidded with the belief that
one day he will see the light and the pain
tearing through your chest because that
day might never come; you know it too.
you can't expect a monster to love you