i held a conversation
a monologue to my face
in the subway door today

i think i find you pretty, i said
but at the same time
i think you're a monster

yet i see you everyday
so i don't think i can judge you
i can't, can i?

i dare not find anything
in the strength of this body
in the defiant spirit, shown in the proud face

only those not me may judge
i may not define myself myself
i may not be a single memory

i must live in several heads
no matter how they see me
i may not utter my own name

why is beauty defined by
the appearance of weakness?
why flowers and not trees?

i won't be crushed underfoot
i will smash their pretty masks
and reveal the sneering faces beneath

i will strip away the leaves
to expose the thorns
that lash from beneath their lavish cloaks

i will snap in half the stems
to show the ugly weakness
that pervades body and mind

i will ––

i bore you, face of mine
you who stand on neutral ground
until the subway door opens