Even when they love you, they damage you; lie to you; throw rocks at you small enough to call them pebbles – to push the word out of their mouths without remorse.
You are a woman now. You are no better. They have seen the things your hands can do – how much they can hold – how much they can forgive. You are no better. You have left wounds in them that fester in the unbearable heat of your heart. When they ask for apologies, you offer your body instead.
Love is a chess game, and age has taught you to label yourself a pawn. Always sacrificed for whatever reason they will offer – dredged from the bottom of their pockets. Find happiness in the fact this story has knights and kings at all, and you share the board with them, and how they touch you.
Oh, how they touch you, so momentarily – their fingers filled with thought and want – you could forget yourself;
what you are not.