He with his lips that were too soft and limp for my kisses, this one with his rough calloused hands, that one with his cum that burned me from the inside.
“They” say it takes seven years for our cells to regenerate and make us into completely different people, so those parts of them have never touched any parts of me, now.
One by one they broke me into pieces, but I finally feel clean.
This was written for Tri-Writing with Maya Stein, 3 lines for 21 days. Photo by Genessa Panainte on Unsplash
I’m born from secrets and lies and scandal but I was born into love, into the green house on the hill that I will always call home, into the arms of my grandfather – the only man I’ll ever trust.
I was born from freedom and free cocktails and dancing ’til practically lifeless in New York City, I was born to use this body better than I am, I was born to do more than just quietly walk the Earth, I was born to move these hands and scream.
And now I think I was born for you, for laying in your arms in the gray morning light in the same house I still call home, where I breathe in your kisses and wonder what we were made for, if we were born for this.
This was written for Tri-Writing with Maya Stein, 3 lines for 21 days. The prompt was: “In 3 lines, write about where you’re from (geographically or otherwise).”
Photo by Becca Tapert on Unsplash
It’s been twenty-one years now since the night we sped drunk down back roads singing Just Like Heaven at the tops of our lungs, fresh from a David Bowie concert and nowhere near the brink of sleep.
I don’t know where you are in this world anymore but pictures of you live in boxes on my shelves and just so you all know, sometimes I think of lighting them on fire.
You were never any good for me, from the day you came from California you were like its fault lines ready to crack me open, waiting.
This was written for Tri-Writing with Maya Stein, 3 lines for 21 days. + Photo by Marek Studzinski on Unsplash
I know I can’t keep up with you, I mean, sometimes it hurts to even move and we both know it’s my own fault.
But you touch and kiss and love my body like no one else ever has, even at the biggest it’s ever been.
Maybe you dream of me being better, and I do too, for you; I want to fix these aching legs and run.
This was written for Tri-Writing with Maya Stein, 3 lines for 21 days. Photo by João Ferreira on Unsplash
I’m not sure you see me as I am and I’m afraid one day I’m going to be found out, you are going to know me and then leave me.
I am hiding in plain sight, a bundle of nerves held together with a handful of pills, holding my breath and waiting for the worst to come.
No one sees me this way, not even you, and sometimes when I look in the mirror I don’t even recognize myself anymore.
This was written for Tri-Writing with Maya Stein, 3 lines for 21 days.
cheney meaghan's blog 