Fuck dating these boys, she whispered

Taking my chin in her palm, unhindered

I saw the warm earth that crumbled in her eyes

Dark, soft, moldable brown soil

Waiting for a new life

I could plant myself there, grow roots, and bloom. “No, you can’t use that conditioner. It’s not good for your hair, use this one” “Well, I think you worked pretty hard today” “You deserve better” “You’re the best in the world”
Well, I didn’t expect this.

The thrill of something as soft as you are.

Strength barely held back by warm skin

To hold something this bold, this wild.
It was a bright morning in August

Fingers slipping in and out of reach

Mouth clasped, biting back moans

Twining like silk strings

Gasping, shaking, alive.
I wasn’t given a moment to wallow with her.

Late rides at night, swaying to Florence,

Licking drops of rain from freely offered palms.

The smell of ink and skin and love,

And slow, tender life dawning,

As I tucked us into bed.
All my friends approved of her,

They thought she was positive and good for me

They said they’d have never met anyone like her

So fierce and unafraid to smile and bare her teeth.
The crisp coolness of the mirror where I met her

The tears and sweat rolling down its expanse

The laughter, the joy

This woman who loves my beaten up, broken figure and stretch marks,

Who healed every inch with her fingertips.
How long did it take me to love myself?

And why hadn’t I done this earlier?

Written by: Gayathri RN ([email protected])

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