I Believe I Am Damaged, But You Call Me Yours


I tell you that I am a loaded pistol. I am full of bullets, and each one that explodes will hit you, and you will feel the detonation of my mind and everything else that rages within me. Through my veins run gunpowder, and my vocal chords are made of matches.

I tell you to be careful with me. I have problems that make me crazy. I am depressed, I am anxious. I’m unhealthy and horrible to myself. I’ve experienced too much heartbreak to be normal anymore. I’ve been cheated so man times that I don’t believe in trust anymore.  I may do things that make you never want to speak to me or see me again. I may say things that are absolutely ludicrous and mad, that will make you wonder why you chose me. I will push you away and tear you down and leave open wounds in your soul. I am incredibly detached and will never stay still for you. Be careful, or just run away, I tell you. I warn you that I am a reckless soul whose bomb could erupt at any second.

But you don’t care. You’ll trace your fingers down my spine until you feel me soften. You’ll press your warm lips to every cold inch of myself. You run your hands through my tangled hair until I sigh into covers. You let me seethe in my own silence as my mind torments me, but you’ll leave your hand on my knee. You’ll hold me tighter as I shake and shudder in my sleep. You’ll let me rest my head on your chest while you work, just because you know I love the sound of your heart.

You disarm me without me knowing, and all of my bullets fall. I don’t ever hear them when they hit the ground. I am the unloaded gun that you keep forever in your pocket.