When I analyse myself
Retrospectively
I see many things.
I put that red lipstick on
For you.
I wear a cleavage
For you.
I laugh at jokes I don’t understand
For you.
I try to walk in heels
For you.
I try to act as though I’m adored
For you.
I try to change my hair in a million ways
For you.
I freeze because I wear close to nothing
For you.
My skin is invisible beneath the make-up I put on
For you.
You tell me a lot of women are cheap whores.
You tell me that I look like them and I shouldn’t
As your daughter.
And when I don’t,
I look at you staring at them all
Following every step of your thoughts
And it’s not compatible.
And I become invisible to you, as I am, truly
As you devour these women with your eyes,
These women who you claim to hate.
And I think I’ve found my parameters of love
And the faces that I need to put on
In order not to go unseen
And I lose sight of everything that counts as myself.
“Leda” by Gustav Klimt (1862-1918)
Croque-Melpomene 