And just like that…

I summoned the courage
To Burn the page
I once folded with trembling care,

It now curls in flame,
a silent flare
of who i was…

Is no longer here.

In the hush beneath powerlines,
through fractured stones,
no gardener knelt to bless them.
No springtime choir sang.
Still, golden heads rose,
leaning towards the shadowed light,
the kind filtered by clouds
like a half-remembered memory,
or a lullaby hummed to a ghost.
Roots thread through ruin,
tasting rust,
sipping rain
that fell before the world began.
They were never meant to be here.
And yet
yellow ablaze in the rubble.
A flicker. A flare.
The petaled armor of hope
unfurled against battle-smoked skies
as if the world exhaled
and breathed them into being.

I am going on a journey, I don't know where,                                                      
                                                                ­                                                        
I'll let you know the details, when I get there                                      
                                                                ­                                                      
You call it running away, I claim escape,                                                      
                                                                ­                                            
anything to put a smile back on my face                                                             ­         
                                                                ­                                                        
You call it self-indulging, I say it's a
need,                                                          
 ­                                                                 ­                                                    
this deep-rooted hunger that I have to feed                                                             ­                                         
                                                                ­                                                  
See, I have been trying to make myself believe                                  
                       ­                                                                 ­                          
that your sparse love is all that I need                                                
            ­                                                                 ­                                     
Now I've awakened, that doesn't satisify me                                                               ­           
                                                                ­                                                  
and I'm the only one who can make me happy                                                    
                                                                ­                                                      
If my leaving hurts you, know I am sorry                                                      
                                                                ­                                                  
  but I'm long overdue for this journey

I was born with 12 eyes
they said it would make it easier
to see the light
but it only left me inching
in a fog
hiding from shape-shifting shadows.
So I learned to consume the dark
with my mandibles
and let it seep in to my hemolymph.
The parasitoids laid out fences
of peppermint and lavender -
trying to cage me.
But the oak tree took me in
and let me rest upon her leaves -
told me to shed my old skin.
I hung myself upside down under her branches
tried to see the world from their point of view
but there was still so little light,
and the birds were cawing
threatening to have me for breakfast.
I learned to hold myself tightly,
wrapped in imaginal discs
that liquified my dreams
into a rich soup for me to drink.
I emerged
soft and wet -
with ommatidia that see in all directions
and bear witness to invisible colors;
and with wings formed like dragon scales,
that move in the shape of infinity.
Now I feast with my feet,
feeding on nectar of Chloris
and cross continents
while they marvel at how far I have come
from the ground they tried to keep me on.

Last time when the dust turned blue
a new kind of rain erupted
like pellets bouncing off the ground
realizations poured over our heads
last time I laid flat on a road
and challenged the force of decisional wind
protesting the passage of time
swallowing images of mountain range
from the highest point in the city
last time I felt so dearly in love
with the color of the sky
with the way things go,
with the touch of new life
last time I got to know my own breathing
was when, just like this,
in seasonal change, fragments of old self
came to accompany on a journey
through a new day

Being in the mind?
Feeling behind.

Just going beyond!
Feeling cried.

Finally blossoming                                                       ­                                                               
 ­                                                                 ­                                                    
like a fragile flower,                                                          ­                              
                                                                ­                                                            
a rare orchid,                                                          ­                                            
                    ­                                                                 ­                                       
A reclusive butterfly                                                        ­                                          
                      ­                                                                 ­                                   
I wriggle free,                                                            ­                                          
                                                                ­                                            
breaking away,                                                            ­                                    
                                                                ­                                                  
into life, I dive,                                                            ­                                      
                          ­                                                                 ­               
gasping the air,                                                             ­                                         
                       ­                                                                 ­                      
taking it all in                                                               ­                   
                                                                ­                                          
Coming around,                                                          ­                                    
                                                                ­                                                
headfirst, wide eyed,                                                            ­                                
                                                                ­                                                        
  I come alive

there’s no grey in black & white
until the bleeding starts
then, sometimes
there’s even color

I've thought a lot about it
enough time to pass
the melodramatic fits of passion
I house regularly in this skin of mine

That maybe the end of the world isn't at my door step
and that maybe I can live without your mahonany eyes, yet
I feel a yearnful pull to the softly spoken words
you renounce

Maybe it really wasn't meant to be
And I wasn't meant to be devinely yours
your one and only love for all of my life
I was only 14 when I loved you and
I coersed my own mind to belive that I would only have one love
like that in my life

This realization has felt like
Maybe I have grown
Maybe my girlish teenage mind has began to see reality
Like Messieurs les enfants
born yesterday but grown the next
overnight I lost the child version of myself
to the evermoving trail of time

or maybe I can just feel my prefrontal cortex developing