She decided to let him see her, behold her, through all skins.
But then his hands followed his eyes around her body and
The tormenting insecurities that she inherited and internalised,
Manifested themselves like a rotten perfume, an untrue tritone,
And made her cower, hiding herself, undoing her form, erasing her texture
From his grasp, and crying soundlessly, that she let these words sink into her own skin.
And he looked at her, could mildly relate, yet held her as tightly as he could,
And she became so heavy, she carried so much agony around with her,
He had not been familiar with all of it. It burst out of her and he comprehended
How wrongly she had grown up. How incongruous the idea she was forced to have of
Herself was. He rid her of her inhibitions and let her breathe and holler her suffering
Into the winds. And he saw her real smile and unburied her whole face.
“Lili Darvas Playing Lonti” by József Rippl-Rónai (1861-1927)
Croque-Melpomene 