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Image for the poem I Waited With the Match

I Waited With the Match

I never begged to be loved.
I only ever learned
how to be wanted.
 
How to breathe pretty
and smile soft,
how to keep my pain
polished and palatable
so no one would ask
why I never flinched
when hands reached for me
like I was already theirs.
 
I was the match
they lit themselves on,
then cursed for burning.
 
And still-
I stayed close.
Because deep down,
I believed if someone
just stood still long enough,
they might see me.
Not the show.
Not the skin.
Me.
 
Then you came
with eyes that didn’t just look -
they recognized.
And that was the most terrifying thing
 
Because if you saw me,
really saw me,
you could touch the parts
no one ever knew.
You could press your palm
to the wounds
and call them special.
And I wouldn’t know
how to stop you.
 
I don’t seduce you.
I wait.
With the match.
With the storm.
With every part of me
that knows
once you come close enough -
you won’t walk away untouched.
You’ll carry me in your mouth
like a secret forever.
 
And I’ll know
you’re already consumed.
and I died again for you.
Written by KristinaX
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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