Disappearing.

In a bid not to become your mother, you have become the women your dad fucks to remind himself what a real human being feels like.
he has turned your mother into a ghost of herself,
made her supplicate at his feet for years,
and left her to fuck women who are exactly who she used to be.
you are loud and opinionated and everything you think your mother is not.
she worries that no man will marry you
you roll your eyes and ask her if the years of marriage she wears with pride has done anything but suck all the juices out of her skin
but at night, when no one is watching, you worry that she's right and you are not the marrying kind.
you tell men that you are not the marrying kind
and they agree;
you are the woman they fuck after marrying the marrying kind.

The world is burning and you are burrowed into sheets.
He tells you that he loves you and you desperately want to believe it
but you don't.
you smile and tell him that he doesn't.
he is the softest part of your morning
the part where you wake up and watch him and he breaks into a smile sensing your gaze
and i know he makes love like he's the ocean and he's trying to drown you
his hips separating shore from water
like he has only ever belonged to you
i know that he feels like a spiked drink after many months of fasting
and sometimes the sadness requires you to burrow yourself into flesh to survive
i know he burns like he's the sun and you really need the light to walk you back into yourself
but baby, he's just the moon; stealing light sources and pretending to be radiant.
so you need to stop leaving the lights on and the doors open for him
he won't stay and he doesn't belong to you.

love,
leggy.