I have these moments
when I'm drinking
my tea that I
sit and think of
all the things that
go wrong in
life.

Like how I'm afraid
of the unknown.
And the texts I
send to all the pretty boys

I think of how
when I kiss them
they taste like
bitter
tea
They tell me I'm
pretty
and sweet like honey

But it makes me
wonder.
Is it how I
love my bracelets?
Bright, and new
and
different?

I'm afraid to be loved
fear of being
fooled, because
I'm like pretty
bracelets on the
shelf.

So I'm left with
pretty boys
that have bitter
lips
and whose hearts
are marked from
all the things
I've done

Like the sharpies
that bled onto my
jeans, with
no hope of being
washed away.