i would snatch the purple crescents under my eyes and toss them into the sky

i would untangle the knotty (naughty) forest of curls on my head piled high

i would rip open my chest and show the world my (still) beating heart

i would walk around with paints, turning my friends into works of art

i would tell everyone to wear what they please,

whether it be lingerie, burkas, hoodies, skirts, or graphic tees

i would watch a sunset and eat a brownie and smell a flower

and pet a dog and hum a melody and take a shower

i would stand on the tallest office building downtown

and cry from the rooftops,

“i don’t understand why a boy can’t wear a gown!”

i would cup my mother’s face and whisper “wrinkles don’t matter,

they are small little memories of smiles, of laughter”

i would squeeze my sister tight, and tell her it’s all right,

that there ain’t nothing wrong with therapy, talking is the bomb

and way better than self-diagnosing on webmd dot com

i’d buy a sexy, slinky dress that cost me quite a bit

and not wonder if perhaps maybe i was just asking for it

i would love the mother earth and all that she has done for me

i would paint my lips with red and call myself a masterpiece

 

or maybe i would not, as you see in this world i could do as i pleased

maybe there is a universe where i do not frenzy to write myself out of my body

or maybe one where women don’t see their bodies as gardens to be weeded

maybe i could kiss you without all of my sorrows rolling out of my mouth

or maybe i could stop writing my feelings in messy stanzas left unread

or maybe i could finally have the courage to shout

i am here, i am here, i am beautiful instead.