Searching the catalog

You don't know beauty if you think it when you're looking at me.  Kaleidoscope view, regardless of statements standing.  I can say that now because you're not here to argue. 

Tell me what it is to reach out to water?  Tell me what it is to continuously grasp at black.  Tell me what it is to trail on, again and again, fall into the same pattern to see if it will stick.

Does it stick?  Will it ever stick?  Am I quite sticky enough?

Days that I don't feel beauty, beautiful...like birthday cake and glitter.  Goodbye, I've got to leave now. 

It's like a sleek slime that coats my body and doesn't fit.  It doesn't fit especially when you leave your filthy slime on my skin.  Words do more harm than I'd ever let them harm, but the skin is harmed.  I'm just carrying it.  Thoughts that I ponder, wandering thoughts wondered.  Crossing my fingers to see if they burn.  Words that become thoughts that harm skin. 

I touch your cheek to make sure that you're still there.  And I know you're still alive and that she can't do what I can do.  I know that sixteen year old girl kind of love.  You've had that kind of love before.  You've had all kinds of love.  I also know what kind you've never had.  You've never had this - planned and calculated. 

I liked the 5 minute drive in the mornings.  Six in the backseat.  I'd get lost going up the hill, touching each tree with a glance, taking the speed bumps a bit slower to make the five minutes last longer.  Taking a bit longer here and there and finally taking too much time. 

Was I ever something special?  Was I ever free?  Was I just another notch on your belt? 

Not feeling beautiful does funny things to me.  I search my catalog to try to fix it, to try to remember the beautiful, if it ever existed.  Perhaps I was only fooling myself all of those beautiful times, in the beautiful moments.  Perhaps for the sunny days, better on the cloudy.  I think about the DMA, remembering the tears on my cheeks, feeling beautiful on a sunny day. 

I never think it's enough.  I'm falling through the film and slipping on the ice.  I'm not bigger and I'm not better than anything that comes between us.  I'm just the girl across the table, between the sheets, glowing in candlelight.  Not beautiful and losing magic.