INFLORESCENCE

lilac

IM CHANGING who i am.

not because i am unhappy with myself like you so arrogantly presume, but because i am completely and irrevocably content.
for once i am content with myself, with my smiles with my tears with the size of my waist and the bland coffee stain of my irises.

i am content—

i am bored.
( like i was with you)

i have concluded the generality of my environment sets the levels of the expectation scales to change when you so will to, my sweetheart. when you scowl at my shoulders and so i lay thick cloth of concealment, when you smile at my bare eyelids and so i wipe away the watercolor paste of brilliance with the stretch of my once coated lashes.

you tell me you love me just the way i am and somehow expect me to revel in it, proclaim— ' i never knew that' and suddenly think of myself differently— greatly— he likes me the way i am so i am perfect.

but i know i'm perfect— your words i deem useless.

sweetheart.

and when i tell you i'm changing you say 'why? you're perfect the way you are'

and i furrow my brows and my lips turned to a melancholic crescent and you wonder why. but I shake my head, litter a pretty innocent beam of sun rays over my moonlight luminesce and simply say:

nothing.

but my thoughts are a growing garden, i let you explain yourself, i give you reassurance like you fabricated mine and suddenly you've planted me in your garden in which you watch me wilt, you snip my petals with your self involved words while remain in my final thoughts of:

'why is his assumption that i am not happy with myself?'

have you only been taught to spit reassurance as a way to boast yourself up, to deem the title— to earn the title that YOU are perfect.

if thats what you want then ill tell you so— because its you you you you YOU everything is about you.

i tell you i'm changing but you have left my garden dry of explanation, what i would have said i play on a vintage record on my mind: i'm just letting myself grow— letting my garden of daffodils, of tulips, of bleeding hearts and sunflowers grow. grow into the petals, abnormally large for the stem so they droop until morning rays peak and they stretch stretch stretch. they stretch for my preponderant exquisiteness not for your clarification.

i think you assume you're my sunlight, you're my water, you're my soil, i think you assume that when you left my garden wilted like a flower does when its been ripped from its pot. but i am CONTENT to tell you sweetheart:

that i'm just starting to grow.