i wish i could make it beautiful
an extended metaphor:
a burning home,
a wilting flower
the ocean and its tides
the waves pulling me under
the same comparison i make every time
a hand around my throat,
suffocating me,
leaving tight grip marks that nobody else can see
a scream
climbing,
ripping,
scratching its way out of my throat
loud and piercing and
unhumanlike and
silent all the same
but i can't.
because even in the things
i am good at,
i'm not.
because this, all of it, and i
am too ugly to make beautiful
these words piercing the page are
homely
my emotions are a rainbow of colors
of dark blues and burning reds
wiltering, bruising purples
mixed together to form a drab brown
the deepest black that
you can't see out of
a fabric so thick you can't tear through
can't see the light
can't feel a thing and yet
feeling everything all at once
when will i be able to turn pain into beauty?
when will i be able to turn hate into love?
when will i be able to do anything?
anything at all?
