i found myself pushing pieces of who i am under our bed and in the closet.
hoping to be what he wanted,
to be the perfect woman for him
because i loved him.
i did stupid things to earn the love and affection that i craved from him.
i pulled myself apart until my hands were covered in blood
with flesh caught under my nails,
i smeared myself in vibrant paints in the image of a woman i could never hope to be.
i fought for his attention from the women he later said i needed to be,
setting who he wanted me to be farther away each time i came close to being perfect
under his love, i was a shell.