Poems

Words I’d like to call art.

Please

please dont be scared of me

i am not who i portray myself to be

im here to give you the love you once never learned

and here to help you unrecall the languages you’ve invented to see those wanting to be seen

though terror rush through my veins like adrenaline

i’ve clawed and shove my way up just to find my feminine

i earned my sight of the world

i learned the art of romanticism through all the lenses

thus i deserve to be loved in all of the senses

not to be loved; picked and partially

please dont be scared of me

i’ve traded my teeth for soft hands

self worth for beauty

just to find my fit as heavenly in the warmest zone of hell

i’ve bathe myself in filth gullibly in return of clean

traded authenticity for perfectionism

exchanged all of me for impossibility

and all consciousness for hope of someone returning the insanity that i’ve bargained

please dont be scared of me again

im not who they portray me to be i promise

swear that this is not who i’ll be, carrying your baby

please, a piece of you is sitting blissfully unaware in the vault i’ll never release

not till you hold me as your something blue

and your heart as something borrowed

this is who i am, i’ve been screaming can’t you hear me?

I don’t like calling my art poems though much might say so, I never think that my silly little writings are ever good enough to be called “art” I always thought that, that would make actual poets felt invalidated. But if art is whatever the artist thinks is, then I’d like to think that this is art.

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