by Maddie Sokolowski

you called me your muse but
i wanted to be art.
splayed out on your couch,
tangled limbs and soft folds and fluttered eyes—
you created
me.
i transformed when you touched me,
callused fingers brushing against my spine
as if my body were made to be your
canvas.
you took me, touch-starved and seventeen,
and sculpted me in your image while you told me i was free.
we played at love
like i knew it enough to
choose
and you said i was pretty as i
melted into you and we danced in your
living room and you held me like
marble, pristine and unchanging,
but i went and softened under your hands—
stone to flesh,
running water,
i couldn’t be still.
i wanted to be your art but i was just a teenage girl.