I liked the feeling of being used.

It made me feel like I was finally needed.

It made me feel like I was worthy of love.

I was okay with the way my heart ached,

And my soul was becoming numb.

Being used became a drug,

It was hard not to spread my legs for someone who didn't love me.

It became hard to not let anyone who used me,

To tell them my story,

Hope that they would see my broken sides

And see the flowers blooming though them.

I wanted someone to see my lonely,

And want to fill the crevices.

I just want someone to love me,

And never want to fall out of it.

But you can't fall in love someone without loving yourself first.