my skin grows flowers.
my mind sheds tears to keep them alive.
my eyes are the sun, my gaze lighting up my skin.
i am told to keep my flowers away.
i am told to mow up the green that sprouts from my arms.
i am told that not to do so is rude.
i’ve always wondered why people would cross their arms and stare when they see these flowers.
after all, i grew them myself.
they formed without me making them.
but still, people try to dig up my petals, but i am blinded by the pollen.
if i am not supposed to have these magnificent flowers taking root on my body,
then why does it grow?
why do i not even have to try to have thousands of flowers grow on me?
i am more than what my skin grows,
yet the eyes of others choose to isolate what they want to judge most.
and i will never understand that.