02/14/2019

make me your perpetrator and let me leave you bloodied if it allows for a chance at being loved by you, even if for a second. push me, pull me, let me be your marionette. get closer to me through strings and sticks and cheap floral cotton. you can make me do anything if you use your hands just right. sometimes i’ll even dance. slow, for you. i know you’ll retire me to that crowded shelf eventually, but i’ll sit pretty and patient if you dust me off every once and a while. i don’t mind watching from afar, i’m your little doll. your hands are my purpose. being touched by you is the only way to bring me alive. the kitchen i dreamed of having with you is swarming with fruit flies and crawling with maggots. what comes next? the mold? the rotting wood? is there any room left for loving?