You think you know me.

You think I’m roses,

and ribbons,

and lips parted in permission.

But I was born from the sea—

not soft,

but surging.

Foam-spit and stormlight.

Salt and ruin.

My body was the first altar

you ever worshipped,

and still—

you dare call me vanity?

You left out the belly.

The hips.

The heat behind my smile.

You painted me pale,