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I want to be your flower in the snow.

 

in a day of darkness, when you are drowning, when you’re on the edge of breaking down and screaming to the sky, i want to be your salvation.

i want to be your stranger on the street, a smile and a kind word turning your day back to the light.

i want to be your island in the storm. i want to be your sunshine behind the clouds.

i want to be your flower in the snow

 

but I’m not.

 

People say that I’m sweet

and it’s flattering. it is.

but it’s not true.

oh, thank you, i smile, and it tastes like a lie.

my sweetness is a carefully crafted falsehood

a mask, to hide the jealous cruelty of my thoughts.

 

he’s ugly, or her voice sounds so awful

or

i could do better. i am better.

 

I am your spice to your sugar and you don’t even know it. i am the acid burn of lemonade down your throat once you’ve gotten past the sweetener.

 

i am the wilted flower in the snow, the posturing balloon-girl blown full of air

 

that’s hideous. what is she wearing, she looks like a SLUT.

and then

no, no, she can wear whatever she wants. screw the patriarchy.

you go girl.

 

you look great, i say, and you blush.

thanks, you’re so sweet!

 

I am poison. i am the delicate flowers of nightshade, the inviting pain of a wooly caterpillar.

 

I want to be your flower in the snow

 

i want to be your flower in the snow, your bright spot. i want to be your restoration of hope in the goodness of humanity.

i want to be liked. i need to be liked. your irritation is pain, your dislike torture.

 

so I am quiet.

i sit and watch and smile,

because to be silent and delicate and kind

is to be your flower in the snow.

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