i don’t need you
to fight my battles,
i just need
for you to be there
when my hands
begin to tremble
and my voice breaks,
to help me
steady my sword
and teach me
how to roar.

m.v., I am my own savior, you are a companion.

i don’t want you
to love me
for my flaws,
i want you
to love me enough,
to demand
that i grow.

m.v., you can love my skin and hate the scars i put on it.

there’s a difference between
me - the living,
and
me- the memory you keep
and now,
finally,
i know
that i am more
than what you dreamed,
i am more than a fantasy,
i am real.

m.v., atelophobia (the fear of imperfection, of not being enough).

i was talking to my uncle today
and he said -
he had great loves
when he was my age,
but as great as they were
he doesn’t remember their names.

and my heart sunk
to the pit of my stomach,
because i imagined you,
years from now,
saying the same thing
to your kids,
trying to remember
what you called me.

m.v., athazagoraphobia (the fear of forgetting, or being forgotten).

you hate my tattoo
because i did it to defy you -
it’s a constant reminder
that i can hurt myself
the way no one else can,
that my spectrum of fears
does not include pain.

m.v., reckless (i do not see my body as a temple).

you shouldn’t worry about
getting my forgiveness,
worry instead about
forgiving yourself.

m.v., one day you’ll hate yourself for hurting me this way.

i am awake,
rummaging through my head
for the synonyms
i know for -
afraid.

m.v., insomnia (my dreams scare me).

i think that maybe
to you
i am just
a collection of
ok-but-not-great
memories,
aftertaste
of coffee cake
and
half-baked dreams.

m.v., to you i am fragments