Sometimes I wish
I didn’t fall in love with broken boys.
I always see the signs,
they wear their hearts on their sleeves
like battle scars
and I ignore all the red flags
like when they outright say,
“I’m a bad person”.
and I tell them, no.
I console, I hug.
because I’m always trying to help,
not thinking about myself.
Sometimes I wish
the broken boys would love me back.
Lie to my face with sickly sweet nothings,
whisper “I love you’s” into my skin,
so if I squint hard enough
the hickey’s look like hearts,
slowly fading memories as I stand in the mirror.
Sometimes I wish
these broken boys would understand
my heart’s already broken
so they don’t need to fix it,
just need to lie enough that the tape holds.