Ramblings of a Teenage Girl

I think he hates me
He definitely loves me but I sense a part of his heart sustains an amount of hatred he may not care to acknowledge
I care
I care about a lot of things
Like the ladybugs trapped in my bedroom window or the flowers in the front yard
About the way my hair falls against my face or whether or not the buttons on my jeans match the tone of my jewelry
I care about clean sheets, perfectly stacked sandwiches, smooth calves and soft shoulders - the way he likes them
But I also care about the scars on my arms and my hips and my thighs
I care about café menus, mirrors, and measuring tapes
I care about the girl from econ, frowns of disapproval, jokes misunderstood
Is that why you had a D in that class?
Your fingers curl into the dips of my palms and engulf my hands in yours
You swallow me whole and I feel safe within the quiet darkness of your stomach until I look up and realize despite your touch we are still disconnected