Struggle & Flowers Galore

Look at me.

What do you think you see

behind the starlight shaped glances I give you,

beneath the flowers I’m wearing

like wonders and childlike mem’ries of peace and pink and summer and mother’s love as she was teaching me the name of my blood,

besides the primitive needs I respond instinctively to,

like deep down there’s an animal that has been screaming, claiming it’s right to breathe and bread?

 

Look at me.

You might not see the world sized war I’m carrying between these hands, but

inequity, double standards, deceit, false prophets, sick, twisted, mind games – bother me

the same way that feminism, misogyny, condescendence, sabotage, labeling someone without even having imagined yourself in their shoes – bother me.

Not standind up for something meaningful like life, in any shape, form and size,

the making of your rights,

the man that loves you even after there’s no more land to be conquered between your – otherwise still beautiful – thies,

cheapness, cinisism, corrupt politicians, cruelty just for the sake of it – especially towards animals – bother me.

But this isn’t about me.

This is about you.

The side of you that turns wonders and childhood mem’ries into flowers to be put over blood’s grave,

the side of you that turns breathing and breading into primitive, animalistic crave,

the side of you that turns hands into war sized worlds,

the side of you that isn’t brave,

because neither am I.

 

Look at me.

Unwrap all unnecessary layers of me, past, present and future.

Understand me the way that you would expect them to take the time to understand you.

I’m letting down my flowers, my mother’s love, the name of my blood, my right to breathe and bread, my war, my grave.

I’m letting down my guard.

For you.

 

Look at me.

My feet hurt. My heart aches, my lungs ache, the sounds that I can’t make – they all ache in my mind,

the ground that my mother and father aren’t buried in already aches open. waiting.

leaving me here to remember mistakes that haven’t been made yet.

I’m fragile and naked, yet wearing grave flowers.

For you.

But this isn’t about me.

This is about you. The layers of you, the changes of you and the war you’ve been breathing.

Let down your guard for me and let me look at you. Naked. Beautiful. Humble. Struggling. Bleeding.

And everything else I’m not;

all the things I’ll never have enough time to be.

Don’t look at me!

 

Rochie flori,

Pălărie Madame Briolette

Botine snake print, no name

Geantă no name

Vestă neagră, thrifted

Palton negru, Topshop

Colier No name

Green Eyed Kisses,