Anahita Rangreji
Dear man,
Do not restrict me to the curves of my body,
My mind is a gold mine,
I grow flowers on the surface of my heart,
Those flowers tend to grow thorns sometimes and prick me so hard,
My soul is fierce but soft at the same time.
Do not bind me in a conviction that the most able and capable place is the place between my legs,
My hands contain compassion to caress lonely strangers,
My feet contain memories from the day I stood at a friend's funeral,
My eyes contain unshed tears and passionate dreams.
Dear man,
Do not conclude me to be an object,
Do not force me to end myself feeling worthless,
Do not force me to conclude you to be my enemy,
I'm trying to love you,
And make love to you,
I'm trying to hold your hand,
Do not hold my neck and drown me into the waters of your understandings about me.
By that you are convincing me that my mind full of gold is a hoax,
You are convincing me to pluck off the flowers I nurtured with devotion in my heart,
You are compelling my soul to turn shallow and stone cold.
You are restraining my hands when I caress the lonely,
You are washing the memories of my friend's demise off my scarred feet,
You are compelling my eyes to shed tears and lose dreams.
You are compelling me to unlove you and abandon your hand,
Do not force me to rip you apart when you try drowning me into the waters of your theories about me,
Because I am not your conceptualization,
And there is so much more to me.