Let paint mark my cheekbones
and flowers grow from my skull.
Leave my words dancing on air
bubbling from only your lips.
I don't want my body
to be theirs to dress in.
Make me a fashion statement.
Tragic.
I'm no god.
Not even in death.
So let them forget me.
Just don't let
me die in vain.
YOU ARE READING
We as Humans
PoetryGolden threads from a dirt human. Poetry and philosophy that I write for me and share for you. (Cover art by Gabriel Levesque/@oskadesign)
