Fuck you

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Fuck you, yeah, you, for showing up like weather
I didn’t order, didn’t want, still soaked me through.
Damn you for the way your laugh hits my ribs
like a fist that somehow feels like a hand.

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I was fine being stone. I liked the quiet.
I liked my cold, my clean, my straight-line days.
Then you walked in and, shit, now I’m learning
my heart’s a stupid animal that recognizes yours.

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I hate this. I hate how you ruin my focus.
How your name crawls up my throat when I’m alone.
How I catch myself saving you the good part of me
like some loyal idiot, like I’m built for it.

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And fuck you for being soft in the exact places
I swore I’d never touch, never need, never miss.
Damn you for making “mine” feel like a prayer
I don’t believe in, but keep saying anyway.

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I didn’t choose this. That’s the cruelest part.
It happened the way bruises happen
one day you don’t notice, the next day you’re tender
and every bump reminds you you’re alive.

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So here: take my anger, take my pride,
take this loud, ugly devotion I can’t dress up.
I’m pissed that I love you. I’m worse than pissed
I’m yours, unwillingly, and still, completely.

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© Sreedhari Desai