will it ever be enough? when someone loves you, you feel something curl inside of you, sour and whiplike, angry at being unheard. they don't really love you, they love this facsimile you have ensconced in your rabbit body. they will chop up the bits of you looking for luck and never find the good soul you promise - their love slides off. you're viscera; you have spent a lifetime promising the blood is art.
oh but when someone hates you - well, they're right to. and you'd trip over your little grassknot legs for them. begging them to reconsider. you feel it all knifeedge, spinepoint straight through you. they're the ones who see the real you, after all; and if they can love you, you might finally feel worth something.
but if they do love you in the end, after all of that, after your heart like a fawn opens to gutter under them - you've fooled them, and it isn't worth anything anymore. they've just gone and fallen for it. the love slides right off.
once, you heard a line in a musical about being abandoned. you laughed at the time, unnerved. your voice a keen; too shaky to be candid.
will it ever be enough. will the love ever diffuse through your skin and sink into your marrow. are you even capable of feeling that - of feeling cared for - or are you still waiting, even right now, for the hunter to draw the bow and arrow. if you trust that love, even once, and are wrong, you know exactly what will happen.
and somehow you know - you'll never be able to fix that, once it's been broken.
inkskinned