top of page
Writer's pictureYours Truly

Freak of Nature

Updated: Jan 23, 2019



~

The weight of Mount Olympus

lies sepulchred

on the bridge of my nose.


This is where

the goddesses live.


They tell me

I am beautiful.


I do not believe them--

for I am a freak of nature.


{How much for a nose job?}

 

When first they beheaded the

sweet, purple blossoms

that lived inside of me,

I had thought their actions kind,

for only the loveliest stems

are unearthed from their beds

so that their anatomy

may be arranged

in golden vases

like Van Gogh's sunflowers.


Little did I know

that each of the silken petals

lining the lonely depths

of my soul

would be ripped apart

by your selfish,

take-never-give

hands.


{Love me not}

 

What's in a name

if all the roses

are dead?

 

Ironic,

how they will

beat the bush to potpourri

and then expect her

to thrive in their presence.

 

They burned me

before I could burn them.


{Controlled Forest Fires}

 

I fall apart

like the tree branches

that bestrew the rain-torn asphalt.


The remaining pieces of me

have swept away with

the bluster,

delivered to you

on your doorstep

in an array of

misshapen puzzle pieces.


Each of them

are the colour of the sea;

to put me together again

will be a gruelling errand.


And to be quite frank,

I do not think you

are up to the task.


(You were the one who broke me

in the first place,

remember?)


{Oops-a-daisy?}

 

How do you expect

me to breath

when my lungs

are comprised with the

very matter of hurricanes?


{Category 5}

 

Out of the woods,

but the light is foreign to me.


{Allegory of the Cave}

 

Best watch out

for those gravediggers,

dearie--

how they would love

to bury a freak like you.

 

The river lilies

stand like tombstones

at my ankles--

do you see how even

nature itself has

prophesied my drowning?

 

Wishes catch in my throat

like disoriented dandelion seeds,

sink into the grooves of my teeth

like saltwater taffy.


Oh,

what I wouldn't give

to shake this earth

from my bones

the way a bird shakes the rain

from its water-logged feathers.


What it must be like to fly,

I muse.


What it must be like

to abandon this nature

for a kinder one.

 

Image Source:

Girl running through forest with flowers in hand .(n.d.).[image] Available at: http://fairytale-christmas.tumblr.com [Accessed 21 Jan. 2019].

 
24 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

Comments


bottom of page