i am so soft i will become the shape of your hands when you hold me. please slip me on when you are cold to remind me that my warmth is a necessity, not a burden. when the skin on my thighs bruise, please tell me that purple, then blue, then green, then yellow is your favorite color. please remind me that when the weeks change, i change with them and it is okay if sometimes i flip like a calendar page. i want to hear about the scary movies you watched as a child and i want to know if they still keep you up at night. i have a feeling that you no longer believe in monsters after being called one so often and never understanding why when you looked in the mirror. i am supple and malleable and all too fragile, a glass figurine trying to fall in love with the fucking bull. my mother tucked me into bed at night with stories of how you would eventually break my heart and i kicked off the sheets to make room