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I am unknown

I am
IIdaisy petals, crumpled
IIIIIlove notes and
IIIIIIIIIIviolent death threats
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIthrown to the
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIw
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIi
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIn
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIId.

.

I am the sparkle-glitter
of your eyes and
IIIIIIIIa parcel
IIIIIIIIunwrapped –
they used to call it
your mind.

I

think.

.

I am a heartbeat;
a vein of
pumping blood with
heartbroken messages
carrying from the brain
to the heart.

.

They say I am
perfect;IIIIIIIIIIIIflawless;IIIIIIIIIIIIunblemished

but I am creased and cracked,
faulty on the inside
where no one looks because
the inside is where the
pain hides.

.
In their eyes, I am
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIItheirs.

I am as pure as a white rose,
resting in their palm,
waiting to be moulded into
what they
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIlong for.

I am
an infant’s cry,
a nightmare-ish lullaby,
a project your child worked so hard on
until the dog ripped it up.

.

I am unheard, but unforgotten,
my desires whispered into your ear
by the old gypsy
that spoke your future
for five dollars and ten cents.

.
I am

silence.