Zelda

Said to me
that his arms
were made for
holding me
so tightly
that my fear
wouldn’t dare
break through my
rib cage.

His lips,
made for kissing
the commotion,
the torment,
the madness behind
my purple eyelids.

Said his love
was made
for ticklin’ my
cold black soul,
for melting the ice
that killed my heart.

My darling said
he was an answer
to a call
from God Himself,
breaking the yesterday
feelings of today’s thoughts.

But he’s not
any
of those things.

He’s a man who
squeezes
just a little too tight,
a drinker by day,
and a thinker by night.

Thinkin’ he can fix
what’s not broken:
me.
A little girl
with big grey eyes,
with a hole in her brain
that he tries to
fill
with lust and jewels
and stories of
a better life.

He can’t,
it’s mine to fill
and I’ll fill it
how I please.
With the bubbles
from a glass of champagne,
with the Italian sun
on porcelain skin,
with a salty mist on my tongue,
with the gentle kisses
from a lover.

I wish
he’d just
let me be.

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