19 if I was going

if I was going

to break, it had to be hidden,

easily, by clothing;

 

behind the ear like poison ivy,

or the top of my feet, worn like socks;

 

my ankles like jewelry,

my a*s that no one ever grabbed;

 

the front of my waist where no eyes lingered,

my breasts, small as paper cuts;

 

the innermost part of my thighs that played

a dangerous game of missing a main artery.

 

I closed my eyes.

I dug my teeth in, dull aching all around.

 

But if no one knows,

no one knows.

 

But to my boyfriend…

I mattered to him, right?

 

I had to…

Right?