Beautiful.

Take my hand in yours.
Take my hand between your gnarled fingers and razored nails.

Kiss my lips.
Two chapped lips pressed against my own.
I can taste the blood from your scars.

Wrap your arms around me.
Your long floppy arms, covered in hair and dirt.

Look into my eyes.
For when I look in yours, I see only darkness.
Pitch black, fearful as the night.

You always do as I ask.
You’re always there when I need you.
The blonde haired quarterback who asked me to the dance,
Ditched me at the door.
But you held my hand,
And we skipped into the sunset.

You never lie.
You always do the right thing.
The red-haired singer with glasses who asked me to do a duet,
Left me hanging on a high note.
But you sang in my key,
And we hit that sucker right out of the park.

You curl up next to me at night.
You always like to share the blankets.
The boy who winked at me in chemistry held out his hand,
Only to take it away at the last second.
But you take me in your arms,
And we snuggle for the rest of our lives.

You run your fingers through my hair.
It’s greasy and sticks, but we laugh through it.
You wrap your arms around my neck,
Trying to avoid the lump on my left shoulder.
You touch my face,
Covered in little hairs, that hurt your fingers to run across.

It’s true you’re not beautiful,
But neither am I.
What matters is you’re mine.
And I will never let you go.

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