i
know that autumn is beautiful when everything is dying
and you can use that as a metaphor for yourself if you want
to,
but your sadness is not beautiful, or unique, or poetic.
autumn is beautiful because of russet colours and golden
crackling
under your feet, because of cold nights and sun-drizzled
afternoons,
because of hot food and the way the air smells when you
crack
open a misty window to taste the beginning of the day.
your sadness is not that.
your sadness is pale skin and chapped lips and disregard.
you are not trees that have been set on fire in the
distance.
you are a girl, and your death is not beautiful.
you are a girl, and you are better than
that.