I don’t get on my knees because I like
scraping scabs off them, I get on my knees
because you won’t.
Point to where
you feel pain. I look at my naked body
in a mirror and kiss
my eyelids, elbows, and cheekbones,
purple smooches to visualize what crazy
or you’re sick would look
like if it inked the skin.
Someone put my hair behind
my ear like a promise
and told me they adored me and I said I love
you but not as much as I love your pity, except
I didn’t say that, I just let them buy me four mangoes
from the market and never picked up
when they called me again.
Jessica Samantha is a writer based in California, but she considers her much of her poetry to be an ever-expanding love letter to her childhood in Mexico. She is currently studying Literature in San Diego, and loves to keep learning about how to write out of love, not out of survival. Her work may be found at jessicasamantha.com.