I have never met someone with arms as long as yours.

I've never been with someone that feels like home.

The only thing I've ever experienced is spoiled and tainted versions of love,

Served by broken and hungry people.

I swallowed it and swallowed it until I couldn't stomach it anymore,

My pride held my mouth open while myself pity fed me more.

Equally as strong, these two combatted and fatigued me until there was nothing left.

Nothing.

Empty with a bad taste still in my mouth, I stumbled and fumbled.

I convinced myself that I didn't need what I needed most.

I saw the scraps of hope and love I was given and convinced myself that I didn’t need any more.

I suddenly threw up the scraps of hope and love I allowed myself to swallow.

After pouring and bearing and giving and sharing and tearing apart my heart that lived in the pit of my stomach

I was nothing but a mind-numbing rhythm that rumbled through each unfulfilling part of my body.

I was nothing but a misplaced heart that had found its way to my stomach.

Hungry, empty, and with a half-consumed heart, I found my way to your arms.

Your long arms wrapped around me and fed me more love than I could take.

They kept me warm through the long nights where I heaved and gurgled up, retreated, and had withdrawals: nights where I fought because i wasn't being served those painful plates I thought I deserved.

They kept me warm until I felt like summer, until I felt like flowers in the spring, until I felt like a phoenix rising, until I felt that I have love to offer everything.