trapped in my own body. 

in a body politicized and compartmentalized. 

by everyone. 

the oppressor and the oppressed. 

longing for connection to my humanity. 

to the humanity of others. 

but only a few scattered pieces of our selves ever connect. 

we are alienated, our solidarity standing on relativity. 

not even love can transcend the separation drawn by identity. 

can it?

i am alone 

in a rose garden 

that you planted. 

a garden that you tend to,

but seldom join me 

in the center of. 

 

the garden moves

every soul to fall on their knees 

at its mere sight. 

onlookers swoon 

and even envy that i am

embraced by such beauty. 

 

i am told to 

admire the roses,

to raise my heart and hands in praise. 

i am told 

my tears are thankless

when i'm surrounded by perfumes. 

 

but in the center

of the garden,

i am lonely and i am empty. 

trapped behind a veil

that hangs on 

rusty hooks of pleasantries. 

 

you swear

the garden and your love 

are truly just one in the same. 

any witness

of the garden would agree

with every rose that they catch sight of. 

 

but it is i,

only i in the center 

of the garden being swallowed. 

it is i

chewed by their eyes

which lick their teeth before devouring. 

 

in the stomach

of the garden,

i am alone. 

in the belly

of eyes of voyeurs,

i am alone. 

 

you planted 

this rose garden

that you tend to lovingly for me. 

but for my pain,

the roses never

lend me more than just their pretty.