Tu m’aimes?

Why do you love me?

I worry about this, my dearest. I worry
that you love me not for
who I am

but for that which I am undeniably not.

They say I’m “quiet”
They say

in voices, filled with pride and awe and wonder that

“not THAT kind of girl”– a ridiculous epithet!
They remark that I don’t “sleep around”

(an image– a sleepwalker in a red lace negligee
“sleeps around” oblivious to taunts and the simple

cruelty of womankind)

They point to a gold disc with a harsh red ribbon

–so uncomfortable to wear, like the title of

proof negative of what i am not– a young, female,

delinquent, illiterate at 19
enceinte at 20.

But baby,
I am more
than the opposite of what i am not.

Look at me.

Look past unremarkable brown hair and brown eyes and
the sun’s kisses on my cheeks.

Look past the prizes and the pain

Ignore the scars–

i’ll cry away the mascara for you so you can see

through the tears and smears into

my soul.

Do you love me now?


~ by mechante on March 6, 2007.

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