The lines, the shapes, the curves—
You memorised my body like
You'd memorise a nursery rhyme,
Repeating it over and over again
With raw, innocent curiousity
Until every inch of my body
Was mingled into every inch of your memory.
With every minute of every day
For the rest of our days,
You'd take a long look at my body
As if it's that art making you feel what's love.
Yet I was so used to my body you'd call art
That slowly it seemed more like a mess,
More like ugliness, less like beautiful.
I had looked at my body for so many years
That I had started to see through my skin
Deep into where the heartache and the hurt
Had been residing and eating me away.
You'd hold my hand and give your eyes,
Show me that there's beauty in pain.
I still haven't gotten used to those tours
And sightseeing over my body
And you still haven't gotten tired to
Show me how beautiful I am.
Is this what love is?
~ for you
YOU ARE READING
Mixtape | Poetry
PoetryMy heart's a stereo, it beats for you. Listen to it closely. [ collection of poems, musings and more ] Cover by yours truly.
