young fanaticism//womanly “sophistication”

I used to eat daisies with an air of desperation

never considering that
romance was not grand,
never considering that
romance, it belonged to me
alone.

Before
I tore
my face apart for love.
I’d stare at my reflection
breathing deep
like an animal who’d caught it’s prey.

I wanted you.
I wanted you like a fanatical
protestant screaming at God on Sunday.

I am young but I was younger then.
I eat my daisies with a fork,
and hold my breath
at the threshold
of my mirror.

Drunk sex came more than poetry
and
my profound confessions waned silently
from love stories
to
a young woman weary.

I am young now
but I was younger then.
The love of a girl was
my hazy fire;
the deep, billowing smoke
and discarded daisies
that you see, ambiguously,
now the love of a woman.

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