I set my scars, my fears, my tears,
upon your gentle hands,
waiting for the wringing day,
they are all squeezed.
Crushed into a liquidy waterfall,
draping me in every single,
“I told you so”
that has ravaged this mind.
Sardonic words trickling,
weeping through my pores,
feeding my anxieties,
all boiled up geyser, ready to erupt.
No one could love me after this,
this brawny form,
sinews, dry sockets, lanky bod,
crusted in chalky residue.
Whispering dark thoughts,
I cast into your mind,
they linger and taunt me,
what could you possibly think of me?
A wretch, a fool, a pathetic little girl,
do you see me as insane?
Am I broken, a jagged train wreck?
Is there anyway to find beauty,
and adore this open wound standing before you?
A tattered flower blistering in the sun,
still laughing in the splattering raindrops,
singing your magnificent name,
along with the names of each creature,
that crosses my path…
Alone on the mountaintop,
begging the cliffs to grab at my ankles,
and lift me to flight,
straight into the devouring sky.
My chest bursting out butterflies,
wings flapping on the rays,
heading down a narrow path,
of hope, sighing away dismay.
You hold my wounds, my wants, my love,
will you crush them into a rocky creek,
heading down the rippling rapids?
Do you find anything elegant,
a tidbit of consequence, lovely,
in this big-eyed girl?