you

your house was never a home

and not for lack of trying.

you hung pictures and planted flowers and opened all the windows.

the air remained stale

like leftover birthday cake.

your body was never yours.

you covered it with tattoos,

starved a little

until your stomach dissolved in its own acid

and you shrank so no one would look.

they never did.

your heart never loved

only lusted and fell,

cried tears to fill the rivers

with longing no one had for you

because you’d rather not be

a fantasy.

you are not yourself.

you are bones that will never be swallowed by the earth,

you are veins that climb like flowers up your arms

coursing with borrowed blood,

you are a little stardust and a lot of magic.

you don’t need a home

because the world has held you in her cradle

way before you ever were.