I wish I could peel my skin back
Layer by layer
Until I revealed a me that is soft
A version of myself that doesn’t hurt to touch
That isn’t so hard to hold.

My lips are always chapped and
It makes me question if you even want
To kiss them anyway
As if the scratch of my mouth could
Cut as deep as my words do when I
Want to prove to you that I’m not worthy.

I wonder what it feels like to not
Be rough around the edges
To be dainty and light
Like little tiny breaths escaping a petite
Hairless girl as she fake moans
For a lover who doesn’t deserve it.

It must be nice to feel like you deserve
Any kind of affection
Without second guessing it
Like the bangs I got last month
that made me look like my mother so much so
That I started seeking advice from my own
Reflection yet all I saw was disappointment.


I wonder what it would be like not to
overreact to l-i-t-e-r-a-l-l-y everything.
Not to be so sensitive that every accidental misstep
Or offhand comment from a lover feels
Like a rejection.
I wish disagreements didn’t rip into my gut
With the overwhelming sensation of disloyalty, or
That last minute plan changes
Simply meant busy and not that they
Don’t love me.

And on that note what the fuck would it be like
Not analyzing and overanalyzing
what I said and what you said and what someone
who honestly doesn’t even matter thinks about what I said
feel like? How would it be to not
Spiral into a deep dark circle that
Sucks you in so fast you see your
own head spinning to the rhythm
of the people you love shaking their heads
because they just don’t get why you
Can’t be nice-r, calm-er.

Why does it always seem to matter so damn much
And it would be nice if it didn’t, okay?
It must feel so fucking good to not give a fuck
But that’s not how I’m wired.

What does it look like to wake up with a smile without
Even the thought of coffee to assist you?

And how do you not scream out of sheer joy?
I throw my head back and open-mouth laugh
At any small moments of happiness
Because positive energy must be CELEBRATED.

I’m curious when I look at you,
What being content, at peace feels like.
To not drown in what-ifs and
One, two, three hundred alternate things
I could have said to better express myself instead
Of staring into a bowl of silence soup.

I Wonder what it would feel like to meet someone
Who also counts how many times that
Sentence they said out loud is repeated in their head
Before they don’t feel the impulsive need to go over it.
Someone who would do anything, everything for those they love
And not just say it but lose sleep over the fact that they
Can’t help, can’t heal, can’t erase others’ hurt
As if maybe by caring so deeply for others
They would in turn stop punishing themselves.

Would it feel like home?


Alison Burdick Contributor Photo
Alison Burdick | Digital Marketer. Self-Proclaimed ‘Bad-ass bitch’. Devoted Shopaholic. “You-Shouldn’t-Do-That” Type Thrill Seeker. Wanna-Be-Nomad. Known as the obnoxious feminist friend. Likely to steal someone’s puppy. Lives by the Motto “Death Before Decaf.” Biding my time until a secret government agency recruits me to be their double agent.