I don\'t love him because he\'s pretty,
I love him because everything\'s an accident,
because he could hit me
and he\'d still get to see my broken face.
I love him because I know my place.
A jar of bones,
a wallet photo,
a night queen.
I\'m a well-kept secret,
he\'s a drawer no one\'s checked.
I want to love him in the daytime.
I wish I thought he was pretty,
just pretty,
so I wouldn\'t have to sit on his shelf,
packed and preserved,
protected like a pearl.
Maybe I don\'t want to love him at all.