i think about
being a painting.
what if i was
agony and
tragedy
and beauty and beauty
in colour
on a canvas.
perhaps this is my downfall;
perhaps this
is my worst
what a blessing
what a blessing
someone prays for me!
i am a stereotype
non-understandably understandable
complexly simple
can’t you see
can’t you see
i’m just a statue
frozen in a moment in time -
i didn’t …
i didn’t save everything is that okay?
is that okay?
me, the destruction of the world.
the end of everything ,
it all crumbles away
and all that’s
left is
some warmth
some
strong semblance of love.
‘girlhood
is aesthetic
curation’
but it’s
also
holding hands with yourself
and coming
back home
to my girl
every night every night
and knowing you’re annoying
and enjoying being
hated
and those
nights
where you stay awake but
you’re falling asleep.
the end
of
the world
is everyday,
right after i wake up
and before i
remind the mirror
how lovely she is.
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