kissing my stomach through fingers
telling all the girls they’re pretty
we’re together like air
breathing in and out of focus
when you cannot think clearly someone else always can for you,
until then-
and this is called hope
to be okay dying but not preferring to
we love what our voices look like
when i hate myself it’s my body trying her best it’s grief and it’s being bruised and it’s veins and it is breathing, temporary and sometimes it doesn’t matter if it is temporary
let it sting
