I love beautiful things. I love to marvel. I love to hover my fingers over flowers, over artwork, over warm skin..
I hate how beauty is used against me. I hate the expectations. I hate how it’s all that matters sometimes. I hate being concerned that I don’t look beautiful. I hate how I punish myself over it.
If I had my way everyone would look the same and everything would be over the way I made you laugh or the way I sang to you or how much I care.
you’ve always wanted to see me grow
but he thinks the ways for me to grow,
are to pluck at my leaves
rather than nurture my seed
he is not worried at all
and I’m just here, being all that he needs.
and he is just here to get shade from a tree
just taking in my oxygen
and you, you are just trying to help.. from a distance.