"You are a woman. Skin and bones, veins and nerves, hair and sweat. You are not made of metaphors. Not apologies, not excuses."
"I know that this isn’t love. He’s tugging at my shirt and breathing into the gap of my neck. He’s kissing me where it hurts and bruising me where it doesn’t. He presses me against the wall and I’m shaking now. I know that this isn’t love. My hands are sweaty and I’m running out of breath with the pressure of his body on my own. I kiss him so hard and I can taste the bitterness that his first lover left behind. I know that this isn’t love. I push him off of me and I tell him that I’m sorry that I can’t do this. I put my clothes back on and run down the street so fast that I forget where it is I’m meant to be. I sit under a porch light, on an empty street and I don’t feel broken, I feel lost, I’ve been trying to find you in the hands of boys who never care enough to remember my last name. I love you, please come back."