Floral Floundering

This poem is part of a series titled identity. 

The first piece in the series is Strip.’ 

The second piece is Strut(Walks).’

The third piece is Jazz Hands.’

This the fourth and final piece.

I hope one day to hold a rose and kiss it,

to kiss the thorns on its stem and cut my lips- blood

tastes good.
I wear roses on my body-

I wear roses to hide my insolent hips from swaying too wide;
I adorn my long, droopy arms with sunflowers and yellow 

if my blood isn’t warm enough at least its flowers are;
My back is laced with lilies and jasmine-

its scent masks the trace of fear that blows 

like a wanton wind;
My chest is the mantle to the tulips that rise into my throat, 

stifling thought, stifling expression, 

isn’t it beautiful to look at?

I wear pink on most days, brightness attracts attention– is that what I crave? 

The world is looking for something to make blue every day– is that what I’m asking for?

Well I’m no florist but my body can grow pretty things quite well.

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