if i only exist to you when i’m naked
then let my clothes decorate your room.
let my Led Zeppelin shirt adorn the wall
next to your band posters.
let my black pants compliment the
overflowed hamper in the corner.
let my lacey, white bra blend in
with your colorless bedspread.
let my underwear enjoy the company
of the other 17 pairs it found in your drawer.
my socks are already lost among the sheets
along with strands of my hair and pieces of my dignity
that i know you’ll never give back.
maybe i’ll never get back anything
that fell through the cracks in your room.
the same room where you brought
me breakfast that first morning
when I awoke in your favorite shirt
even after i told you
i’m never hungry that early.
the same room where you grabbed
your own jacket for me—
the one no one else has touched–
even though mine was hanging
on the door right beside it.
the same room where we laid
on your bed for hours listening
to that stupid song on repeat
and staring at each other like
this was it. this is what it feels like.
is this what it feels like?
if i only exist to you when i’m laying
helplessly underneath you
maybe i won’t even bother to
find my clothes in the morning
but instead, accept your room as
the resting place for apart of my soul
scattered with the irrevocable
damage you laid upon me.
maybe i’ll steal a cigarette from your bag and
your jacket that is still lingering with my scent.
maybe i’ll walk out your door
and let your roommates stare at my bare body,
and i’ll leave you sleeping and
holding on to the last pieces of me
i’ll ever let you keep.