You were my favorite bed of nails,
And when I laid back on you, it never hurt me.
You’d call me things like ‘beautiful’
Instead of calling me a whore.

It’s strange how insults thrown in ecstasy
Can sound so similar to love;
But when he comes, it never takes
My beautiful away from him.

The glow is effervescent in the haze of summer,
Our days spent fucking in every number of rooms
In our respective houses. The basement,
The floor, the bathroom, the stove.

Every place he takes me seems to feel like a home.
A discarded wasteland could be beneath me
And it would feel just like gold.
It started slow, like molasses dripping in cold weather.

His hugs started to smother
Iron butterflies in me.
They didn’t flutter, they cut holes
The size of quarters out of me.

His nails dug in tighter, he wanted to burrow
In my skin. He burned my flesh with lighters,
Tried to carve himself right in.

You were my favorite bed of nails, baby,
But beauty never dulls the blade.
I remained so beautiful
Beneath his watchful gaze.

I traded in my beauty
For a different summer season,
One that loves with heavy arms; one
That loves me slow like honey dancing in the jar.

Sweet in tiny spoonfuls;
One that sits inside your mouth
And does not need anyone to shout about it.

I might not know too much about
How to love, or how to be loved,
But I know it should not feel like pricking
Your fingers every time he holds you.

Lorne Ryan (via defense-mechanisms)