An anxious flutter of her heart

a self-deprecating high

who should she be?

the redundant longing for an answer to a rhetorical question was the only thing she asked and even begged for

because she knew with her whole heart that she would 

she would run until her legs ache

she would starve until her ribs peeked through

she would dye, cut, or chop her hair until deemed to stand out

she would become someone he’s capable of loving

even if she frayed; a mirror unrecognizable

because she’s been in love with him

a poison consumed with hope- a hopelessly  lost love

and for him she would fill until she loomed over

like a wilting flower aching for a touch of sun