Pale pink petals dipped in blood
surround my yellow crown
  and painstakingly painted stigmata.
A  fragile, fragrant DNA poem
  perfectly expressed.
An immaculate lily – not a failed rose.

At the sight of my rotten roots
people usually turn away
“you’re a lost cause”
“it’ll be a waste of time to stay”
they say.
If they listened for a minute I would tell me them:
“If you’re gentle with me
and water me with low pressure
mist me and let me breathe
those drops of care
slowly seep into me.
And if you lift me and begin to untangle me
I will love you freely
and I will grow
and my rotten roots will not be
the death of me
trust me and you will see.”
But by then they are already on their way
and my words are delivered only
to my rotten roots.

When she immersed herself in the dark
In the wicked
And the wild
When she embraced the ink of night
She learned to rise
To adventure
To love
And love again
And not be terrified of the shadows
That sleep
within

Love is like storm
It can fade away slowly or grow to be life altering event

Love is like hope In the darkness
It can be light
It can be safety

But for me love is only a dream

The blade glides
Emerging red high tides
From mad to sane
****** anguish overpowers mental pain

Haunting me every second
Holding me captive every minute
Caging me every hour
If only I could control my thoughts

Criticizing me every second
Scolding me every minute
Hating me every hour
If only I can minimize my thoughts

Overthinking every second
Keeping me awake every minute
Replaying my mistakes every hour
If only I can shut off my thoughts

I long to see me
As you do,
Entirely foreign and
Mundanely beautiful.
I wish to trace
The curves of my lettering,
Attempting to decode
A message I have already
Memorized.
I have already unraveled
All of my mysteries but you
Still startle at each creak
Of the floor, each squeak
Of the door.
Nevertheless,
That elsewise wonder
Is only reserved for
Strangers.