You Don’t Know Me

By Khalelia Ahmad

“You don’t know me, you may think you do  

but who are you trying to kid? It’s not me, 

These judgements, accusations that you  

believe are planted deeply, you can’t see, 

I wear the cracks of my past like gold just  

beneath the frills of my sleeve, so please, 

Don’t say a word about me, you don’t care  

to look down when I fold up my sleeves. 

It’s getting hot, and it’s just you so I  

figured it’d be fine to let you see more too, 

To let my past shimmer from the cracks  

where my flowers sprouted and bloomed, 

But you’re blind to its shine, colour blind  

to assume that it’s shallow, but it’s deep, 

When you say such things, it pulls at the  

cracks, it hurts, it bleeds, I can’t sleep. 

Gave others credit for my struggles and  

pain, I’m going to tug my sleeves back down, 

My flowers I must hide, because you  

don’t see petals, you see thorns, a sour lie, 

I love you, but why? Why do you see the  

worst in my rhymes, turmoil in my vines, 

Stains on my roots, if an apple falls it’s  

my fault that it’s bruised, a garden sued. 

For my history that took the liberty of  

moulding me like this, I want to blame you, 

But it’s not your fault, I should tell you  

next time that my roots are fragile to you, 

That when you slap away my vines to get  

through it hurts, that it aches at my roots, 

If it were anybody else my leaves would be  

fine, but you’re just so important to me. 

That’s why each time you criticise, echos of  

the past whisper via the cracks, and I try, 

To let it all slide, I know you mean well but  

little do you know is that you made me cry, 

Just once, one night, and now I realise  

you don’t see me for me, who I am truly, 

I pull away, saving growth that my past  

self needed as she outgrew her shame. 

Each leaf, petal, thorn, and root holds  

genetic memory, entanglements of DNA, 

Every thought and feeling of my inner  

child and past self from beneath the soil, 

All the pain she overcame, but you’re the  

trigger, you speak and drive her insane, 

Resurrecting my demons, giving CPR to a  

version of me that wore all the open scars. 

You don’t know me, you take it too far so I  

close myself up, putting up a scarecrow, 

That’ll be my guard, until I find it in me,  

the courage I need to say what I mean, 

Even if you don’t understand the original  

tear starting beyond 6ft deep, I grieve, 

On the idea that you don’t see me for all  

that I am, for a woman I am trying to be. 

One day my poison ivy will spiral, when it’s  

my time to finally tell you of this feeling, 

Because it’s crystal clear now, you don’t  

love me, if you did you’d try to know me, 

You’d buy glasses to see me clearly, to see  

the cracks painted over in gold and glitter, 

And as of now, this makes my trust wither  

when I hold onto you, hoping for better.” 

By Khalelia Ahmad