remember when my hair wasn't to my collar, or when my hands, legs, face wasn't rough, dry and untouched? when my hair wasn't green. when i knew how to love, and it wasn't the hardest thing to let someone in. to accept their insecurities to embrace them?
i let love in and i hold onto it, but one wrong turn and i want to crawl up into my attic that i have planned for myself. i want to take some coffee-drinking stranger into my quilted bed and just lay there. or talk about books over hot tea in my lamp-lit room. i don't want you to tell me about earthworms, don't talk about your year of intoxication. i need someone ready to accept that i run away in eighteen different directions. i'm sorry, my red flag is up always and you know this. you're already scared and i'm already gone.
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