I want distance.
I want you to devour me.
I want to climb into your skin and rest there
softly between your ribs.
Rub my cheeks against your marrow.
I want time to find myself.
I want to give myself up to you
like a doll, like a pet. Dress me up.
Take my body.
I want to be your muse,
hot, sweet, red hair, my lipgloss melting into
the crook of your neck.
Tell me I belong to you.
Tell me I’m not like other girls.
Oh, only your girl, my scrunchies and empty notebooks and
short skirts and blusher, for you.
Tell me I’m broken, fucked up, wasted,
gone too far this time.
You love it. Now write about me.
Paint me. Fill me. Ravish me.
Tell me I taste like strawberries.
I am bubblegum pink. I am on fire.
I exist for you.
I worship you,
girlish hand stretched out to bite the one that feeds me.
Nourish me. Know me. Consume me.
Illustration by Verity Laycock