I wish my body came with a warning label:

“CAUTION:
Doesn’t speak up enough.
Can’t look at you when you talk.
Black eyes.
Hard mouth.
Scarred kneecaps.
Scared of spiders, crossing the street, and ‘it’ happening again.
Proceed anyway.
Handle with care.
Easily broken.
Can’t remember what it feels like to be happy
on a couch three weeks ago.
Can’t remember what its like to be loved so hard
that she thought she would disappear.
Can’t even tell if she was ever loved that deep.
Only knows what its like to fuck that deep.
Wonders about god, but doesn’t believe.
Fragile.
Flower stem.
Thinks she’s boot sole.
Thinks she’s never going to make it to the morning.
Is always surprised when she does.
Long fingers.
Stretch marks.
Smokes when she feels like hopeless,
when she feels like exhale.
Impulsive.
Thinks she can cure herself.
Thinks her body is an apology that no one wants to make.
Proceed anyway.
Handle with care.
Easily broken.
Flower stem.
Fragile.
Thinks she’s going to drown today.
Thinks she’s not going to make it.
Thinks she’d look prettier with her eyes closed.
Knows that she is going to die
missing pieces of her heart.”