I am a woman stood in front of a vase;
I am a woman stood in front of a table which holds the vase; A vase full of lavendar.

Are you half empty or are you half full?! I prop my head clockwise and then anti clockwise. I still see you as both. Your spires are thin but your purple flesh is not caged within. The buds of your growth fall to the base and I see as I crawl that you have angles of light too; I cannot perpetuate, evaluate, perceive and encompass all of you. Maybe that is the point? Perhaps that is what makes you so beautiful day and night.

I am a woman stood in front of a table which holds the vase filled with lavendar picked last September— and I can’t help but be envious of the life you have that I do not; The vase is empty and the purple flesh you grew withers slowly. But I still wish to be you, just like you— or maybe even you.

No matter how tall I stand; I’m still a woman laced and pulled into a corset. I’m forced to walk with my head poised centrally upright and my spine corded into a line. There’s a natural curve but I can’t flourish, accentuate or cherish my body; Or else I’ll be forced to feel the leather of their abusive nerve and patriarchy. My nerves are always sharp and I carry my tools close by because it keeps me alive.

The mind I...