Fuck you
Fuck you...yeah, you...
for showing up like weather
I didn’t ask for, didn’t want,
and still you soaked me through.
Damn you for the way your voice gets under my skin,
like a thumb on a bruise I didn’t know I had,
like you already knew the map of my damage
and traced it without asking.
I was fine being sharp.
I liked my distance.
Muted lipstick. Boots that kept moving past feelings.
A life built on “don’t need,” “don’t stay,” “don’t touch.”
Then you walked in and...shit...
now I’m learning my heart is a stupid animal,
all teeth and hunger and loyalty,
and it knows your hands.
I hate this.
I hate how you ruin my focus,
how I check my phone like it’s a confession,
like I’m waiting to be forgiven for wanting.
How your name slips into my mouth when I’m alone
and suddenly I’m soft
in the exact places I swore I’d stay steel.
And fuck you for being gentle
right where I keep the locks.
For finding the parts of me I never let anyone see,
never let anyone touch...
and not making a joke out of them.
Damn you for turning “mine” into something holy,
like a prayer I don’t believe in
yet keep saying anyway,
quiet and mean and honest.
I didn’t choose this.
That’s the cruelest part.
It happened like a dress snagging on a nail...
one second you’re fine,
the next you’re caught,
and every move reminds you you’re tied to it.
I tried to rip free.
I tried to act like I don’t get pulled
toward the warmth of you
like I wasn’t built for cold.
But you don’t hold me like a trap.
You don’t love me like a leash.
You make space.
You let me flinch.
You let me come back without paying for it.
So here...take my anger. Take my pride.
Take this loud, ugly devotion I can’t pretty up.
I’m pissed that I love you.
I’m worse than pissed that it’s real.
Because I feel you everywhere...
in the doorway, in the silence,
in the way my body finally unclenches...
and I hate how obvious it is:
this love that showed up uninvited
is the best chance I’ve ever had
of feeling
at home.
© Sreedhari Desai