I was born into a million women

Sometimes love comes to me inbetween the lines, in these worlds of worlds that I can barley grasp my fingers around, these secret places of desires and lust that enrapture me with unknowns, words that fall out of context, eyes that speak, lips that remember my body as everyone else falls flat and all that exist is this blanket of possibilities, these worlds that are tumbling from the unsaid, and I live in the broken down waves as they hit the shore over and over again, turning my heart with sand. but in others loves it is more concrete, I am caked with emotion, my eyes have been taught languages from books and my words are constantly defined, over and over again so that I am everything predictable, everything known as woman, with breast and thighs and seductress like expressions. I become this capable possibility, a wife with a cape flying across the sky in search for freedom or a boxed in kitchen. It is odd these different loves that come within the spots in our hearts, the niches in a house that no one ever lingers in.
I feel timeless in a love that comes to me like butter, a condiment in a fridge. I am loved for all the other woman who can not be touched, who run on air, who think of the impossibilities as their wardrobe. I am loved as the woman who is the last woman on the planet and the one that gave birth to her. I am loved as an icon the impossible stereotypes that begin eating disorders and self-hate crimes,  the shadow of one open door. I am loved in a strange hard way, as if it was made out pressure and wood and nails, made out of a million and one timeless possibilities that saw no end, and in this man's free time he decided to make a woman for himself in his mind, gnawing away at the faces and the dreams that left him empty.
I am that woman that created herself out of thin air, striving to be known by the body parts, like screws that were left over with the instructions.
 I was born in a sea of laughter and pain, the world of indifferent sighs and misunderstandings. and inside my birth came a ticking clock and eventually the nails and martyr to create.