toast, roses, and bubble gum- that’s what we are made of.

I can’t quite tell

If there are parts of me missing

Or extra bits stuffed in the cracks and crevices

It feels somehow like the boys who kissed my skin

Nibbled a little too much off the edges

Leaving sharp corners exposed

But maybe they plucked those thorns from their own sides

And pasted them- no. Plunged them

Into the soft spaces when I wasn’t looking

Or maybe- just maybe when we kissed

They took me between their lips like chewing gum

And spit me out just a little mangled but still all there

Well, mostly there

The substance anyways

Gum loses its sweetness in the chewing

But I suppose I should be grateful he never swallowed me whole