Why I'm scared to call you beautiful...
I hesitate to call you beautiful because
I think you are.
And the rallying cry is that I'm not your type.
So if I let those words drip from my lips, I'm exposed and reduced to counting down to the next kick, the next needle, the next knife. Waiting for you to be like the rest, but your eyes tell me otherwise and your pinky tells ms otherwise and the pain in your voice tells me otherwise. Listen.
I can't lie to you, there is a life that flickers in your eyes that I can't deceive and though words are mere vibrations on air, I crave to make them real when I speak to you.
Let my mere words mirror the reality in my mind: I do in fact think you're beautiful, even if that makes me vulnerable. I'm okay with handing you the knife, if you give me a scar, I'll call it art.
Carve me with fingernails or butcher knives, but I surrender my bare back to you. I forgive you for their sins
I won't look back, and I won't flinch.
You are beautiful.
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