The follicles shooting out from my head, dropping in oceanic waves to my thighs

My crown that is revered in so many cultures, a symbol of femininity

The softness that is whispered in hushed tones of Botticelli

Swishing side to side, its arc leaving a path for interpretation


The war paint on the canvas of my face, a form of chosen self-expression

The depth of the black ink that frames my eyes,

the blood of the colour that coats my lips

The lustre of my lashes hidden behind a looking glass

The softness of the bones beneath my skin


The line of my neck marrying into my shoulders, flaring out at my chest

A nexus of pride and shame

My home and all its furnishings, pretty and odd and unique

a dwelling that feels the licks of hell when men stare a minute too long

sometimes even offering commentary on it.

As if my bones exist for them.


Essences of rose and orchids and lilies permeate my skin

Strands of gold, silver, bronze choke my wrists and neck

My heels hover inches above the ground, the molecules rearranging themselves

Hues of purple and pink that make splashes, at times hugging my skin

At times drifting away from it

All this and more

Creates a picture, a vision, an assumption, an understanding

All based on how I choose to present myself

But I smile a Mona Lisa smile to myself: they just know a half truth

The whole of it

Too much for people to handle, too complex, too nuanced.

It exists beyond the body, claiming a throne of its own in my mind

Ruling the only person the truth matters to


Words by Hridi D


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  1. Pingback: Coded – Hridi Writes

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