Now when a boy calls me pretty
i don't do the usual;
neither do i smile
nor do i treasure the compliment
in my long term memory
all i do is
walk to the nearest mirror
caress my face
touching every inch
of imperfections, you saw in me.
I stand rigid
with a deja vu of our mirror selfie
undeleted from my calloused heart
recalling from where it all started
the day you called me pretty
remove the 'r' and thats me today
petty; as i seem to you.
my lip you tasted, is placed like a concave curve on a torn graph that is my face
devoid of flush, that crimson flush, when you held me for the first time in your arms
which felt heavy on my fragile body
for which i didn't complain about
and you walked away so easily.
to her.
your kisses have turned into bruises
etched like invisible tattoos on my
skin
my heart aches, reminding me that
beauty is more relative than subjective.
I have turned into this mama gothel
devoid of Rapunzel's hair.
and i hope you leave love marks lighter
on her skin
so she forgets the sinner as well as the sin.
something not so akin.
to me.
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