Tag: you broke me

it makes sense now, you
being born during hurricane season: 
the way your eyes melted
into clouds, 
the way you spoke in rain,
the way you tore apart the ground
beneath my feet
(you made it look graceful, though).
you were my life’s greatest
metaphor,
and you’ve left me
looking for explanations
in every corner.

baby, you’re the first hurricane of 2015. // a.s.m 

You Were Scared I’d Break You, But You Broke Me

Why were you so scared
to touch me? 
Did you think the fire would spread
from your fingertips to your tongue–
that I’d burn you? 
Or that I’d splinter
under your skin and bury myself
so deep, I’d be impossible
to pull out? 
Did you believe I’d shatter and
draw your precious blood? (you never
had enough blood to give)
Or were you scared
I’d pull you in closer; that you’d have nowhere
to hide?