identity crisis

I am Love
I am light in a darkened heart, healing of the strings infected by too much tugging, the dimples you didn’t know you had on your face.
I am something sunny and free and I don’t care that my smile isn’t straight when I smile for you, I don’t care about last night’s eye-shadow smeared over one half of my face or hair that’s curled in maybe one place. I don’t care about past mistakes. I am the flower, grown from a seed, petals curled out over a dress that is never something you would wear unless you were happy.
I am an honest grin, singing within, the comfort of a hand on skin, the laughter from lungs. Loud and shameless and echoing,
echoing,
echoing in ears and eyes
I am soft sighs, soft voice at midnight
Early mornings without a rush. I am the blush.

I am Lust
I am the ripping of lace, the smell of the leather, the silk wet with sweat,
I am a game you don’t beat, but baby we can make that bet
I am bitten lips, bitten necks
Destroyed hairstyles, a hiked up dress
I am the prey and the hunter rolled into one, the animalistic nature and more than one-and-done, I am the pride at a moan, the scream in a throat, the glorious mess that follows our coupling, the perfect red light against a torso, the bruises on thighs
I am the rabbit hole
Go down
Down
down
I am not fun, and I am not easy.
And I am never sleeping.

I am Pain
I am the crack of lightning of a door slamming, the loudest silence ringing, the anger sitting in the stomach, the bile and shaking
I am the physical heart breaking, labored breathing
The rush of fear that you may actually be dying this time
Who can survive this feeling?
I am the crying until the tear ducts are dry, the words trapped between mind and body, the broken wing of a blackbird, the eyes closing
Opening
Closing
Please let me be dreaming
The pleading
“Oh god, don’t let this be happening.”
I am the first drink, and ones that keep following.

I am Numbness.
I am the nightly click of the lonely lock
The solo dinner, the Netflix-binging and canceled plans.
I am the drink that you take every night, the empty cigarette boxes, the unemptied ashtray,
The melatonin taken nightly, the quiet bath, the dodged calls from friends and family
I am the avoided restaurant, the resignation of a Valentines Day, the box in the closet that you can’t look at yet. You can never look at it yet. I am the forced smile, the ache in the body, the busy, the hours filled with anything, everything, the desperate occupation of the mind, please. Anything.
I am the hateful quiet as the brain keeps on thinking
Thinking
Thinking
I am the agonizing attempt to cut out feeling,
because who wants to feel like their heart never stops breaking?

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