He said,

“You’re amazing.

You’re beautiful.

You’re just... not what I pictured myself with.”

And I smiled.

Like that didn’t shatter something sacred in me.

Like that wasn’t the hundredth time

someone held my body like a gift

but dropped me like a habit

when the lights came on.

Because I’ve always been the right amount of soft

for their hands,

but the wrong size

for their future.

They’ll fuck me with fire—

but won’t hold my hand in daylight.

They’ll undress me like worship