you tell me I am too


to you,

and I kiss you


for I will not punish you

for the parts of you that

bleed, or the

corners of your skin that

scream with trauma you

are still learning to


for I am not,

will not be,

your judgement day.

on the validity of validation

what is it you

see when you look at

me that makes me

less to you?

a tone of skin

unlike yours, curves you are not

used to, a culture you do not

know, a life you have not

seen, less

money, more


what is it you

see that makes my



the apathy of flower picking

this summer I

watched the way you kept

picking roses and pricking

your fingers

on the thorns and

my arms held themselves

open for the tears you

shed but now


am the one

picking roses and pricking

my fingers and through my

tears I see

your arms crossed

in front of you.