the hearts i draw religiously on
my pale hand are always black.
vivid reminder of
and how i somehow love
the turns my brain
sends to my (near) stomach
area arise when i see
her round face and his
(and somehow i love this feeling)
though it makes me feel…different(ly)
and dirty with
grit and grim that stain my
(mothers) Christian morals.
but i can't bring myself to
wash these black hearts from my
it's a constant reminder of how
i must look inside.
(maybe i am the one worth leaving)