I
I feel the sky in your stares,
the never ending air that rushes through anyone you gaze at, it is as if instead of stone people turn into to clouds, shapeshifters designed by your intentions.
There is strength in your stain glass irises, as there is in the way you walk, talk and stand, though I've grown up with you it's as if you never stopped, the inches between us feel like centuries of unspoken truth, these idiotic words have been lingering on my tongue since the day purple became our colour.
But it's only now that I am able to forge them into sincere sentences that plague my mind every time our tones collide and our hands raise, the crossing of sentences and waving of ring blessed fingers being our form of dysfunctional communication.
You said I looked nice and I became enamoured by those words, hoping that every time I chose between the baggy trousers and the baggier trousers maybe you would realise once again that I am no longer a loud voice in a hidden body, I am here, can you not see me?
Am I only available to be gazed at when I present myself in your preferred way?
I do not wish to cocoon myself and become a butterfly under your guidelines, I have done that so much and gaining and loosing that designed version of me is too painful to go through again, I may be changeable but I can not be changed.
