I am the girl with flowers in front of her face
I am the girl with flowers in front of her face.
You cannot see my face and all I care about
is keeping the flowers in place.
They are huger than I
& I snipped them for myself.
I can sense your attempts
to see through my cloud of pinks:
I sense you searching for an angle
that will unveil my veil
of petals. You can gaze forever
at the Mona Lisa, speak novels
of her brows, her simple little
almost-smile. But I am only
petals now. Like a pill bug
beneath a stone untouched
in a forest, I am occurring
wholly elsewhere. You may never know
where I harvested my flowers, let alone
what type of beauty or disdain
Buy it if you want it (I did).