I'm sick of people wearing their bones like expensive jewellery, like a knife on their hip.
Every flattened curve demands me to change. Screaming instructions for destruction. Is that how you want me? Even if it ends all the good I've bled for?
One sacrifice after another, each more sharp and lacerating than the last. Offering up my mouth, thighs, and dignity like shivering lambs.
It just takes me one sour word and suddenly I'm a little girl again. I'm sitting on my bedroom floor, absorbing the seminal lessons. There's no chance for me.
If you want to stretch me into shape, why not just do it? Watch me go slack for your grasp. I'll hold my breath until I float away, just tell me to. I don't need a second word.
Show me how to keep your attention for longer than a glance. Are there some things kept secret from people like me? Things like no one would want to be a part of a club like that if it meant I was a member?
I'm sorry if I got it wrong. I know being genuine is not something I know how to do well. The attention just feels too good.
