In a garden full of roses,
I am a lotus-
covered in mud and dirt,
laced with vines of insecurities.
I am beautiful but
I do not see it in the
murky waters that reflect me
instead, there's Medusa with
vines for snakes and ambers for stone.
I have petals of pink
that turn purple creeping
like deoxygenated veins
because of fear
and anxiety.
I am stubborn like the roots
of mine grounded in the
thick layers of dark ego.
The only way to uproot me
is to let my petals fall;
let the destructive ticking time bomb
countdown
or if my stems are knifed,
slashed.
I run and I hide,
I take my time to blossom and
take a chance;
And when I do,
I bare my soul,
an open book;
petals wide open to
touch,
tickle,
hold,
caress,
to get hurt ultimately,
intentionally
because that is just how sick I am.
I like the flames of pain
that licks my cheeks
and all the salty sap that rolls of it.
I am delicate and sadistic and a siren
to myself and others
that calls out to bees advertising honey
when they truly harvest poison;
an outbreak to heartbreak.
Words pour out of me like thick sugar in my arteries
and gunpowder in my veins.
I am confident and breakable all rolled in one
as the tips of my petals curl up
with the sun dipping in.
I am changing like the moon,
shadows growing,
casted over the pink,
welcoming monochrome
under with the arms of the devil.
I am fireworks in a black hole.
A bittersweet wine that choked the one person
I loved drowning in my waters,
turning into stone.
Medusa. It's true.
I am you.
but doesn't Medusa deserve better too?
Doesn't she deserve blue?
Wouldn't I deserve blue if I clear the murk
and I finally see how beautiful I am-
If I vacuum the black hole
leaving hours of endless fireworks
sparking of my skin?
I guess only time will tell because
my roots were sliced,
my stem was broken into two,
my petals were caressed and I was told to run,
into the wilderness and I did.
Maybe it's about time Medusa blew your mind, Blue.
YOU ARE READING
Wonderlust
Non-FictionWonderlust is a diary-like journal about how we are all are lost in wonder; a maze of ourselves, truths and lies. P.S: This book is personal and my for own pleasure though I do hope it can help others reading it.