Babydoll, you made me feel good enough.
Made me feel like being terrified of telephones and acoustic guitars isn't a problem.

You kissed my first intentional scar, and you made none of it matter.
The marks along my shoulders never made you flinch.
Nor the lines up and down my calves.

And maybe you never saw them, but I saw you look for them.
I have flashbulb memories of being 12 and never hiding a single scab.
My teacher's eyes glazing over me when I raised my hand, picking the class idiot, Ms. Well Adjusted Preteen.

Even my dad not looking at my face the time I burned my lip.
Concentrating more on the purple and green stars I drew on my fingers,
ignoring the white lines on my forearm that spelled out the recently deceased cat.