Skin and Bones

I burned the word fragile beneath my skin

My freshly botched tattoo served as as a set of instructions for you to handle my body with care

But the second I saw you, I threw down my defenses, threw up my arms in surrender, and handed you a spare key with your name on it, just to let you in

I wish I would have known that you never bothered with instructions, never bothered to play by the rules, and never learned how to play fair

So when I’m asked the question of who was worthy enough to break through the safeguards I constructed, your name starts to slip from my mouth and drip off my tongue 

but I hold back because your name has become a loaded word not worth the price

yours is the only name that feels like a disaster waiting to happen, an earthquake thirty years overdue, and the only name that left me understanding what it means to be young

your name brings back memories of when you would warn me to never trust anyone with alcohol still lingering on their lips, but the taste of whiskey when we kissed blurred your advice

Yet you would still swallow your words and choke out a confession too watered down for me to believe

I didn’t like your name or accept your confessions, and I hated how gentle your hands felt in my chest, because it reminded me that my heart felt more at home in your hands than it ever did inside my own

You left and took my spare key with you, but don’t bother coming back, I’ve changed the locks and learned to be less naive 

The next time I find a part of you in someone new, ill make sure they bother with instructions and don’t favor being alone

I burned the word fragile beneath my skin, but etched the word resilient into my bones