I'm still getting used to be seen, to be looked at, to be felt. I am horrified by my own substance.
The taste of old love lingers in my mouth, it felt sweet but it wasn't sugar.
Is your love just a sweetener too?
YOU ARE READING
Purple blush
Poetry''Everything you did to me, I remember. Mama, I made it out of your home alive, raised by the voices in my head. '' -Warsan Shire, Extreme girlhood
