While I haven't exactly gotten to it yet,
I wonder what it will be to bounce back.
Loving got me to such a low that all of the stereotypes began to make sense.
You know it's bad when
all of the emo teenage stereotypes start making you nod in agreement.
All of them saying that they weren't good enough
for someone else just sinking in was enough to transform me.
I could have held a soon to blossom daisy in one hand without removing it from its home,
leaving it full of life and its splendor.
But in the other all that one would find would be
a blackened rose with the flame nibbling at the tip of a petal.
That rose had such a deepened beauty with it in the dark like that,
I believe that at the time I really wanted to only hold the now tainted rose,
revel in its beauty as I ignored any semblance of my own.
I wished to stay in the lively field,
though the rose and I were its total juxtaposition,
and I wanted to wallow in the pity of it all.
And oh, the pity was immense I don't know how I stood for it at all.
I painted my skies similar to the rose,
black and soon the walls of my mind were too.
I was in some sort of cahoots with those
newly made "mainstream kids" with the charcoal auras,
because circumstances and lack of willpower
had given me the acryllics to begin my experiment.
Their quotes were comforting, I suppose,
because we were all in such inescapable terror that
nobody really had the thought to move out from under the black umbrellas,
and just let the rain wash over them.
I wonder if any of them would be shocked at how easy the eyeliner washes off.
And when you rub and tug to open your eyes to everything again,
the dark bags beneath the eyes dissipate too.
They won't go away completely,
but it's almost nice to see yourself the way you were intially created,
with none of the taints of paints that society puts over you.
No cloaks, and absolutely no smoke and mirrors left for you to find.
And when I finally felt even the first raindrop,
I found that my precious rose fled like muddy dust.
I like to think that instead of floating into some mysterious void
for the rest of the negativity to dwell,
it went into the ground for regrowth.
Though I know that not everything was meant to grow and progress farther in life,
I'm grateful that I can.
Although the racoon eyes from my eyeliner haven't been fully exumed,
I decided to leave them be.
Eventually I trust that water will cleanse my being,
and I will be as whole as the universe intended me to be in the first place.
Sometimes I still find myself staring back at that field,
and it's still bursting with life, energy, and happiness.
I'm not so certain that I'm ready to camoflouge within that crowd just yet.
But just outside of that beloved, golden field,
I sought out a tree,
with a book that holds too great an abundance of my tears
than I would dare admit,
and I made myself a home.
The beautiful leaves that had decided to stick around through the Winter
were just about to flee.
They had more perserverance than I ever had,
and I marveled at them who served as my roof for the days to come.
I would understand when it came to be their time to gracefully flee.
I sat there in the sun that many of the field-dwellers called their own roof,
and cracked open my caked up book once more.
I flickered to a new page,
it didn't feel entirely fresh, but it was enough
for the teeny scrawled words that would soon be upon it.
I let a bit of myself gelatinously plop onto this page,
and closed this book that had seen two too many types of rain.
While looking out at all of those pretty little souls frolicking amongst themselves,
I found the bud of a daisy.
None of the petals had bloomed just yet,
but my eyes touching it were all of the reassurance I needed to know that it would grow tall,
no matter the winds.
Those black clothes once held merit,
and for many they still do.
But for now,
beneath the tallest, stalkiest tree I'd come to meet,
my light gray, almost too thick, linty long-sleeve was enough
for the tiny peony in me to make its entrance into the world.
Human Dignity + Compassion = Peace.