Content warning: sexual violence. Shoot the messenger but only when the delivery through chattered teeth cracks you open heart- first take his shoes, strip his chest, cut him sideways lodge the bullet somewhere along the spine of the book he carries and reads to you from again teeth chattering because there you are with a gun after all the men who followed you home shouting about that ass, cornered you at parties messaged you dick pics and hey beautifuls and marry mes and propositions in slurry speech and memories you
His hand on you call the police his hand on you call the police his hand the police call phone in your pocket call his hand, you, the police you, a shield his hand hammer his hand axe his hand promise you hurt you call the police his hand your phone your pocket you call.
This is how it happens: We contort ourselves, like paper flowers. We wait, twisted in our beautiful shapes until the tears fall to melt us away. Damp, we wilt. Damp, we tear easily. We are not quickly mended. This is how it happens when we love with our full hearts, when we turn down our brain chatter, the endless no, not this one. Not like this: We grow twisted into beholder-defined beauty. We wait, in our places. We wait to be plucked up in delicate fingers. We hold the pose