Roots
deep and twisted
twists those who should know better.
The weathers changing,
We’ve past the point of blaming,
But know this earth is it.

Beware the warnings she leaves in rising, warming seas.
Listen to her expertise.
We all breathe the same air but only few care - those two degrees are deadly.

A guest who steals will never walk through the same door twice.
Take her advice and harvest only want can be replaced - don’t lace food with chemicals distilled from fuel you were never meant to use.

Nature won’t always be there to go to back to.

Bitten blooded flesh;
Proof of the demon in her head
that gnawed away,
Stealing days like takeaway cups
filled to the brim with saucy sin,
seven layers of deceit.

‘Incorporate music’
But how when there’s no structure to the cacophony you’ve conceived?
No cadence,
imperfect or otherwise,
to resolve the constant clashing,
the bashing,
of keys in your head that won’t silence.

Is this violent dissonance tuneful to those who aren’t the instrument?

I'm ready for the rain,
ready for the pain it brings,
ready for the cleansing,
the healing,
the arrival of feelings I've been inviting for months...
I've been avoiding for months...
I've been fighting for months.
Because I believed that numb was better but now I crave the harsher weather.
Now I need the hurricanes,
need them so desperately I can hardly separate me from the want.
The savage desire to light a fire I'm unwilling to put out engulfs me.
I want to set myself aflame, but blazes lead to blame and body counts.
So instead, I'll await the rain.
Best to just let it wash away.

She was not forewarned that with fresh starts come broken hearts
and rebirth is never pretty nor pain free.
To escape the misery it was necessary to first feel the burn,
only it was never meant to hurt quite like this.

Hoping to kiss an old friend goodbye to the tune of a lullaby you've long out grown,
but instead having them trace your skin with knives and ice as you stand blindly believing,
facing their shadow and mistaking lies for eyes as yours water.

It's okay you didn't see the weapon.
It's okay your hands shook as you ripped it from between ribs then stitched your chest shut.
It's not okay they walked away without harsh words, deserved, hurtled at their heels.

But know your freedom is battle born,
and strength comes to those who know their own worth and do not waver.

A man I am meant to love told me the amount of skin I show represents my right to consent.
Flesh = Yes
Clothes = No
"Deserving" is a word he used.
A grandfather told his grandchild she deserved to be abused based off the length of her skirt, but this is old news; same story.
Only, I've heard it one time too many and now I'm sick of it.
"Devastated" over my hypothetical ****, he'd said,
as though his feelings mattered more than my right to my body.
Well, **** him.
I'm tired of prioritising people whose opinions are so archaic they can't see the crime in their words.
And his words hurt.
He defended the 'nature of men', claiming its an inbreed instinct,
tried to explain the appeal of women as though I don't already know.  
Jokes on him.
I'm gay.
But I've never been under the illusion it's okay to objectify or intimidate your way into a person's life.
I've never felt entitled to a person I've liked
And there lies the generational divide
Because neither has my brother.
Being "unable to control certain urges" is just another lie they feed you to perpetuate a culture of ****.
I'm seventeen, and yet I know the fear a predatory gaze can cause,
I've been leered at to the extent I honestly thought this is it.
This is the moment I've been warned about.
And then I thought "It's my own fault.
It's dark, it's after nine, I went out running in only a sports bra,
of cause I'm going to find trouble"
because I forgot that I'm not an object.
I'd been fed the same message so frequently it was ingrained into my fight or flight response.
Doesn't that speak for itself?
I'd been conditioned to accept the blame before the finger was even pointed.
So when my grandfather looked me in eye and said he thought girls where asking for it by the way they dressed,
I didn't have the energy to suppress my response.
I asked him if I'd been out drinking with friends wearing a sheer dress and matching bralette, and I was *****, would he consider it my fault.
His answer was met with stunned laughter.
Yes, he'd consider me to blame, and indicated his disappointment should weigh on my conscious.
I am shamed I have the same genetics as such a man.
At least I've learned to drown out his words so they can no longer effect me.