traumatized

you tell me I am too

nice

to you,

and I kiss you

gently,

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

admit,

for I am not,

will not be,

your judgement day.

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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

dreams?

what is it you

see that makes my

humanity

obsolete?

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

I

am the one

picking roses and pricking

my fingers and through my

tears I see

your arms crossed

in front of you.