I’m going to make a new thesaurus entry for the word ‘Pretty’
You had a habit of making me something I’m not:
An abstract, unattainable essence,
One you could pin your hopes on,
Confess what you could not elsewhere,
And love, secretly.
Manipulation in it’s highest, most evolutionized form:
“tell me what your tattoo means.”
“am I pathetic for believing in Gatsby’s green light?”
“how hard it is, to be this in love with you”
I know you only wanted me to be pretty.
To stay beautifully silent,
The muse for some half-assed poems.
I could be pretty,
But there are plenty of better words,
Words that could illuminate the sky with truth:
Whimsical, wondrous, wistful.
You painted me into such a pretty formation-
But abstraction was never my art,
and pretty was never my word.