bareness

v.

fuck my upbringing

I say stop—
and I step out of my body.
I step out of the box
I was brought up in,
the wooden box
of false promises,
high hopes, honeyed voices,
confusion and lemons of anticipation.

Oh, its artificially sunlit skin I peel,
its sourness I spit out,
ignite it and on its flame
I lit my cigarette.
I flutter the ashes
on the half-moons of alienation:
this body of mine,
this mind of mine,
this heart of mine.
I flutter the ashes.
No wine of pity
trickles in me.
The essence of decision,
such dewy tears of braveness they are,
that is what courses in me,
the strength of it, the intimidation.

I have roses in my veins,
the ones that grew around the box,
the ones I have never seen,
the ones I should have clutched to my chest.
No funerals but celebrations.
My freedom has been awaiting me,
long, long before I came
to meet its face, learn its features.


No one shall speak over my life.
I shall no longer fondle
the body of no
more than the body of a lover.
Yes will be the gold around my wrists,
the rings upon my fingers,
the length of my growing hair,
cheeky in color, cherry red.

I say it.
I pray it.
It is so in this moment.
My alienation a dead body
I will not visit,
I will not bring faux flowers to.

Love belongs to me.
And it is in love that I must find
the true face of life,
normalcy, bareness and intimacy,
sugary conversations,
roses, tulips and sunflowers,
manliness, respect and fatherliness.
The sweet joys, the laughter and faith.
And I will.
I will.

♡

THE END