The way I expressed it didn’t fully Make sense to my dearest Who only likes men. I’ve never prescribed to the scrutiny Eyes of socks eyeing us as they do ****. I used to see red as a fad that had past and a warning that I’m Not desired; Nor will be, no matter my try. But I’m realizing now, Want is deeper than thou who have wanted me only in theory. Fruity or trans, and the girlfriend I have, each is queer and there’s something more in it: Queers see women the same way they view art pieces; So I’ve always been Venus and Ophelia, The Laddy of Shallot— not some acquiescent cool-girl who’ll answer your questions of public hair and fair children. Where a woman I knew sees a woman as through some mans eyes focused on her *******— I cut a fringe for the change, And remain soft in shape For these are a lover’s desires: Wear your identity on your sleeve, In the curve of your arm, on the scent of your hair and upon the pendant at your neck. Like the romantics do in literature; After de-centering men, You can finally be free.
Inspired by the monologue found at https://youtu.be/0o4heKCLeTs Nelumbo nucifera, or lotus flower— liberation from attachment.