“of course, baby”

I ask you if you think I am

beautiful,

and I hate every word before it

leaves my mouth.

I hate the way my body

speaks in insecurities,

the way your words are a

blanket I know I need.

“of course, baby”

I love this sentence just as

much as I hate it.

I hate my need for it,

my requirement of it for

safety within my own

goddamn body.

And so I hold my breath,

and bring my gaze to my own legs,

smiling slightly,

trying.