Blindfolded

CHRISTY SIT

You say
You yearn to see someone
With a forehead of perfections
With cheekbones that are
Not too low for what attractiveness it has got
Not too high for the thirst of power that Woman would
crave for

You say
Those red lips shall be sculpted,
Shall be carved thick
Thick full of vibrant emotions,
Of musky pheromones.
That with thickened hands but not of a labourer,
She shall be good.
Breathing in signs of good health
Breathing out air that turns to papers of wealth
Oh and a gem of good luck.

But you can’t tell the forehead of a fool
For you, yourself, have created one
Only the imperfections you see
But not the sweat underneath
That brings lustre to the crown
Not the lips that speak words
that can Tear those papers into
worthless pieces.
Not the calluses on the fingertips
That can raise mountains
Not the beating heart of an eternal soul
Flaring blood with such viscosity and ferocity that melts
Deeper down than just the tip of an iceberg

And you can never read between these lines
Between the rigid grids you branded
A price tag
A masquerade
A million reasons
Tightening up the blindfold
To cover up your short-sightedness
In hopes someone
Would conform to the silhouette
You blinded yourself with.

︎Christy is a first year Medicine student from HK who
procrastinates by eating, writing and doing anything arts-related.
She has the guilty pleasure of collecting more books than she could read
and having a genuine interest in literally everything.︎

︎︎︎ ︎︎︎