I’ve tattooed a line across
the veins of my wrist
and marked a down stroke
for every time
“you can’t wear red lipstick”
made me believe
I never wanted to in the first place.

for every time instead
I’ve stained my lips with cherries
learning how to tie the stems
so I can slip forget-me-knots
to the back of your throat—
do you feel my restriction now?

the razors that fly off my tongue
perk thorns on my skin,
another down stroke on my wrist
will teach me that
you were right,
shyness is a virtue.

no need to speak,
go spend one hundred dollars
and some percent for tax
to cover up,
even though I’m sure your mother told you
that cotton stains.

so make it black.
get your hair stuck
in the zipper of that sundress
and pray as you pull it out
that it will lose its pigmentation
in the process
mark a down stroke
for killing two flowers
for one bouquet.

hold it
close your eyes and throw it back,
I know we shouldn’t be wearing white anyway
but tradition can take a lot out of you
like what you really think—
don’t say **** in public.

instead drag your first impressions
all the way to the altar
and dress in your Sunday best
a flower on your lapel
clear on your lips
a stroke for the neat decline
of the son

I tattooed a line across
the veins of my wrist
and marked a down stroke
for every time
my image
was my fault.

What is beauty?
Is it the way you look?
How you dress
The way you hold yourself in front of others?
Or is it something you're just born with?

You could be told a thousand times over how beautiful you are
But it only takes one time to ruin your self image
Only once do you need to hear about beauty

She tells you she loves you
She tells you you're perfect
And she tells you you're beautiful

But now things are different
You notice how your body looks for the first time
Bones protruding from every spot
A stomach that concaves back inside your body
Hip bones that could be used as knives

Once you thought your curves were perfect
A place that perfectly fits her hands
Arms long enough to hold her face
And legs that could wrap around her and still have room for more

Mirrors seem to show a different you
Full you has disappeared and dissolved
Like smoke in the night
Reflections shows nothing but a sketch with dead eyes

What is beauty?
Something that I don't have

Why I still write about you
Why I still care about you
If I ever will not like you
If I will ever give up on you

even though I can tell

You have given up on me
You don't even like me
You don't care about my feelings
You don't even respond to my texts