Rainbow flowers of passion

To the girl that found comfort in sharing this to me, I'm grateful.

Not everything in this world is as beautiful as this.

As you are. 

You spoke about a passionate love so deep it splits opinions,

and how, on the good days, you've been reminded too many times before to define what natural is.

To be pink, choose blue,

to not be blue, to always like pink,

to not be the majestic phoenix who'd later burn their ignorant views.

To not envy too much colour, to choose he over she,

to love Adam more, ignore how beautiful eve must have been,

to not fall in love with what won't be.

You'd burned your skin,

till you did not recognise the reflection you'd see.

In those small moments, a joy in knowing that that you was just for you,

and that their paper mashe opinions isn't the oregami that your body is.

Some flowers of passion sewn deep into your skin, every prick, pinch and pain nothing compared to the hidden places where the bruises are.

An unwanted art,

and on the good days it is not you that holds the knife to your wrists,

but the shadows in the back trying to tear down your flag.

And on the bad days, 

you do not tear those end me notes. 

Your dad, called it a phase once and by once you meant you couldn't remember the last time he'd smiled at you,

like the sun doesn't rise and set then do the same the next day. 

To be sinner in your Catholic confessions again and again,

wonder if broken is all you'll ever be. 

Be burned at the stake by familiar eyes, a seered skin crisp with hate,

shamed and ridiculed is not new,

when your own family loved you at a safe distance as well. 

Imagine decaying rose petals in your loving hands soft,

to a union they'd not accept. 

Wonder, on the good days, if you will be remembered as innocence or stained. 

Wonder if you'll be remembered at all on the bad.

To be water and fire fuelling a bleeding heart, 

to want love at least. 

Maybe the home will feel like a home,

and not life as a caged bird. 

Maybe then you'd take flight,

that beautiful phoenix get higher and higher, to burn everything they ever said. 

Picture credit: Check out 🌈🏳A HurRicane (@Dingatse1) on Twitter, her art is an inspiration.
 

17/05/20✔️

Listened to this song throughout the write up, The Village by Wrabel