"Eyes like sunflowers" she says
They are full of tears and I'm not even sure why
I feel it like fire bubbling from just behind
My eyelids close to where my brain is at it's most vulnerable
Before she called me beautiful, I hated that word
People had only ever spoken it at a version of me
That was never me at all. Not sure what to be
Eyes not like sunflowers but gaping black holes
Face made up in pinks and purples like a child's play thing
My body dressed in fabrics made to mock me, a ballerina in training
A breath of fresh air was when she asked me about her language
Though many words sprung to her mind
Upon setting eyes on me she wanted to find
Syllables that would not feel like bullets firing straight through my ribcage
I am not pretty. I am not beautiful. Memories replaying like clips of you've been framed
Only "You" in this case means me, the punchline, a skirt
Those words felt like knives, though they were not designed to hurt
Discomfort was my natural state, I would not go back in time
"But you are not beautiful like frilly dresses and pink powders-
You are beautiful like The starry night and you're eyes, like sunflowers"
I catch my breath, realising she sees me as no one ever has before
She wants to truly know me, I don't need a guard up anymore
For so long I was hiding from silly words with little white lies
But I am her beautiful person with pretty Sunflower eyes