you say when i’m like this
(bitter as flower petals and chlorophyll in leaves,
lying through my teeth like a thief,
red as a bruise that swelled,
fragile like the mosaic floor made from eggshells around me)
because i don’t love anyone or anything
but how can that be true
when i’m like this only
when i’m asking you to love me more.
when i think you don’t love me enough.
this confession begs the question: is that something you’re ready for?
i could be your diamond in the rough.
(that you can keep,
and never breaks)
it’s a promise, on a two-way street.
i’m tired of thinking love conquers all.