Media-Glass Figure

I’ve cut black lines into my thighs to be classified beautiful
I’ve whitened coffee stains out of my canines to shine bright like Ri Ri’s studs
I’ve kissed dinner plates on my kitchen counter to taste acidic porcelain
I’ve walked tiled ropes on my bathroom floor to brand myself a unit of failure
I’ve bargained skin for bones to my lustful mirror to imagine perfection
I’ve broken magazine spines to my sunken desire to be infinitely plastic
See for yourself,
Open up hourglasses, fit me into curved rejection
Look at me drown in grained calories,
Look at me fit in.
Look at me dying through society looking glasses
Look at me have
A Media-Glass Figure

Wrists Are Made For Love

Who says bracelets and slits can't make love on my wrists?
Show me show glass confections and bedroom afflictions and tell me metal doesn't make a beautiful accessory
Why can't she write love on my arms?
They are the bracelets she gave me hiding the blades that she lent me
Who says love and sin can't crawl beneath my skin?
Show me contorted biopsies and x-rayed perversion and tell me results of angelic infidelity
Why can't she be my confessional?
They are the sins she whispered to me masking the love that she cooed to me
Who says collarbones and thighs can't reach for my skies?
Show me winged corruption and clouded starvation and tell me cockpits are stuffed with uncalculated weight gain
Why can't I be perfect for her?
They are the collarbones she kissed caressing the thighs she missed
Who says that wrists are not made for love?
Show me mutilated perfection and romantic addiction and tell me Shakespeare wouldn't find it beautiful
Why can't you see she loves me?
I wear her heart on my sleeves covering the wrists she made bleed.