Customer Service
Will you love me now
that I’ve lost the weight?
or do I need to tone the aftermath too?
tighten the evidence,
smooth the places where my body admits
it lived through something?
Will you love me now
or should my hair be longer,
shorter,
darker,
blonder—
should I pick a shade that says easy
and a cut that says I don’t need anything from you?
Will you love me now
or am I too loud,
Or did I not know what to say
Am I the kind of emotional that makes people tune out while they swear they’re still listening?
Will you love me now
or do I want too much,
not diamonds, not grand gestures, but of course shiny things are always nice,
just consistency,
just someone who doesn’t treat my tenderness
like a payment plan?
Are you afraid of commitment,
or are you afraid of being seen with me?
Or maybe just by someone who can actually tell
what you mean, when you’re speaking
Do you hate when I ask you what you’re thinking ?
Will you love me now
that you know all my secrets
or did I finally ruin the fantasy
by telling you the parts
that don’t photograph well?
Because I can feel it sometimes:
the moment your affection turns into math.
The quiet tallying.
The appraisal.
The internal voice that says
This one is complicated.
This one has a history.
This one will ask for more and maybe he deserves less
Do you love me now
or have you decided I’m damaged goods?
like I’m a product with a dent
and you’re only here
to see if I’m still worth the marked down price?
Tell me what to fix
and I’ll fix it.
Tell me what to shrink
and I’ll disappear politely.
Tell me what you want
and I’ll become the shape of it
until I can’t remember
what my real outline looked like.
Except fuck that… I’m tired.
Tired of auditioning for affection.
Tired of negotiating with mirrors.
Tired of acting like my body is a resume
and my feelings are a liability.
So—will you love me now?
Not when I’m perfected,
not when I’m packaged,
not when my skin forgets the past
and my hair behaves
and my voice fits neatly into your day.
Will you love me now
in the honest light
where my softness is not a flaw,
where my need is not a threat,
where my story isn’t something you “handle”
but something you hold?
Because if love requires me
to be smaller than I am,
quieter than I am,
less real than I am—
then it isn’t love.
It’s just customer service.

Gorgeous. ♥️
I'll share I heard the song Beast of Burden in my head at some point while reading this