I’m feeling you
And not in the sense of tentatively reaching
I’m feeling you
—
I say I love your eyes
And you tell me “they’re just brown”
as though that means something
As though the color of your eyes
Determines how much I love them
As though the more brown they are
The more dislike I have for them
I say I love your skin
And you tell me there are marks all over it,
As though they don’t add novelty to your flesh,
And your “flaws” make you any less gorgeous
You’ve done this time and time again,
Refusing to absorb the compliments I lay on your skins
You brush my words,
My tender kisses off
As though they are dust
Like you either don’t care to see it
Or truly don’t understand the depth of my love
And sometimes I wonder,
if I asked you to do me a favor,
would you?
I want you to love yourself
the way I do
you.