Stomach

i text you about all my meals so you know what’s inside of me when it’s not you. these days i rejoice in cutting up beautiful things other than myself. red onion, courgette, yellow bell pepper, and too many cloves of garlic. when i miss you i send you the mushroom emoji. when i want your attention i post raunchy pics of myself eating raspberries on the internet. fragile fruit. i want to store the way i feel when i’m with you in an empty jam jar. spread it on toast each morning to get me through the doubt. i’d tell you im havin toast for brekky. you wouldn’t need to know the specifics of what i use to appease my hunger. heather jam. i wouldn’t even be mad if the seeds got stuck in my teeth, i’d wave at everyone and say look i’m carrying bliss in my mouth with the toothiest grin. i’m trying to think of a time i’ve been satisfied for longer than fifteen minutes. i’m trying not to make you the sole provider of my satisfaction and succeeding. i cook sun-dried tomato soup. buy a mango just because. when we met i stopped getting high so i could stop lying about getting high. i’m trying to omit less information. i have a list as long as the train track from your house to mine. every bullet point a question boiling down to do you want what’s inside of me when it’s not you