The flowers blew in crystal wind,
Diamond and dragonfly disguise.
Collecting blossoms on my skin
I spread my arms to thus, become
Showered in scales of the skies
And be the petals’ living sum.
The flowers blew in crystal wind,
I dressed in red today. I thought
That I would wrap myself in ink,
Unify physics with belief
And be the crimson missing link.
I was the fire in my eyes,
The blaze of dignity and dream.
Black holes riddled my starlit soul
Stitched with gold knowledge at the seams.
Let me unfold my own parade!
I dressed in red today (the nerve!)
With happiness, now, undenied.
This is the courage I deserve.
I’m not the girl who sewed together
White flower petals and deceit
In hopes to just resemble Ether.
I’m not the girl who talked to birds
As if I knew their purities.
I’m not he girl trapped between worlds.
I’m not the girl who ripped apart
A noble sunset, and then shook
At the corruption in her heart.
I’m not the one, with hands so red,
Cloaked in my blood; the vial I took
To signify my soul was dead.
I’m not the liar, frail, pathetic.
I’m not the hero of our doom.
I am the potent anaesthetic
To all my pain, ripped red and raw.
I am the one, stood on the moon,
Conducting life by feathered laws.
I’m not the girl who can remember
The agony of who I was.
I burnt that soul to glowing embers,
I bought despair back into fashion!
But this transition was the cause
Of the rebirth of all my passion.
The sky was beautiful today.
Wreathed in the blooms of budding life,
The wind blew gently and away
The dust and rue of my old dream.
I cut those cobwebs with a knife,
Sharp as the ethereal gleam.
My function was creating knowledge.
Out of the dark, I fathomed light.
I built it once again, destroying
The grim ideals of the night.
Dim spirits issued from my eyes,
Bent over candlelight and dust,
I drew the line across the neck
Of fear and terror and distrust.
I then dismantled that bleak form,
And made it weep its golden blood.
My hands were dipped in molten glow
As I conducted fate and flood.
I burned it to the very floor-
The sick idea in my heart
That I was weak. I proved them wrong!
I was unbroken from the start.
There was a man who swept the streets
With every tune from his guitar.
The way he held it was so sweet,
And far too dear to be for pay.
He strummed it as if plucking stars.
I want to write like that man played.
It was as if his music smiled,
As if his song’s lithe liberty
Became my equal for a while,
And shook my hand and bowed its head.
"If you don’t love something, why do it?"
The man who played the ballads said.
The sun broke golden through my eyes,
Fragmented towns poured honeys on
The watercolors in the skies.
I was the music too! I grinned
And took my deadly mental pen
And scrawled romance under my skin.
Alliance of my rising heart,
My mind and I destroyed my doubt,
With weaponized and lethal art.
An ink of cyanide and mist;
A pen tipped with the turnabout
Of trials ruling I exist.
Evicted from the living light,
My cursed fears meet lawful ends.
I could not sleep for many nights;
Anxiety spinning her thread
Over my duty to transcend.
But I have killed her; she is dead.
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It’s okay. I’m spilling earthwards
From the ruins of my soul.
Anyway. It was just… painless
To be feeling chaste and whole.
Brick by brick and strength by valour
I beamed slyly to ascend.
Let the lost become forgotten,
Let the future never end.
And I wield the revelation
As a blade to cut though past.
Let my demons be extinguished.
I am beautiful at last.
It’s okay. I’m blind to archives.
Dust unraveled still is dirt.
I can sacrifice my logic
And it doesn’t have to hurt.
And light flickers at my fingers
As I smile anyway.
I don’t have to master puppets
Out of darkness. It’s okay.
I’m Aurora Borealis
And nobody has to die.
I am ether, frayed and faded,
But I do not have to cry.