The eight year old in me
Wants you to know
It's not fair that the hickey on my chest is fading slower
Than our relationship.
Did I say I wanted to be cracked open again?
Did I say I wanted to feed you the marrow in my ribs?
Did I say I wanted to show you the menagerie of butterflies in my chest?
I am dizzy with this spin cycle of loving and losing.
How it goes from comic to tragic in a single turn.
I am selfish with desires:
I want my pink house made of love.
I want to sleep beside another person every night.
I want to stop bleeding from the marrow now.
