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DEMETER.
they tell stories about you / how your hands are scratched and nicked with rose thorns, how the heavy bags that bruised under your eyes were because of late night greenhouse shifts, how the roughness in your palms were from holding gardening tools for too long / your mouth almost lets out a chuckle as to how wrong they were / a long time ago, you tried to tell them why your hands were scraped, why your eyes drooped so low, why your palms have been scabbed since prehistoric times / they didn't listen / and rumours only grew.
so, i suppose, in some sick sense, this was your way of telling them / you left dead geraniums and foxgloves, along with carnations of yellow and used-to-be-passionate lilies that once glowed with sunsets, to line the halls of the school / no one understood, they simply threw away your anger and carried on with their useless lives / it almost amusing.
sitting in your greenhouse, you were seething though / why, some may ask, you are not sure / you tried to speak, yet your voice was as existent as an atheist who believes in god, so you spoke the only way you knew how / but apparently the language of the flowers was dead.
breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out, breathe / close your eyes / your among the forest, you're okay / open your eyes / accept defeat, but do not hang your head / they may not see you, but you see them, and god you're angry / someone help them.
the greenhouse was your murder scene / it should've been wrapped like christmas gift with bright yellow caution tape, warning away all but the curiously reckless / white blood of plants decorated the walls as you sliced and chopped and hacked at the flowers, at the garden, at the world / frustration was your motivation, a drug you grew addicted to, and you knew exactly how to feel it.
but you hung your head in shame / you stopped slicing pie pieces through the world, looking for cherry filling underneath / your hand opened and tools clattered to the ground, seeding your brain jumping into a frenzy alarms / you looked around in fear, your eyes growing wider and wider as they took it all in / how could you do this?
so you left / who knows how long / maybe days, hours, months / you collected yourself / you sat in a forest and let the fumes that once consumed you, cleanse you / and then you became one with the forest / breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out, just breathe / your body melted to the warm soil that tucked away beautiful things, your fingers became roots that tangled with others just like you, your body grew bark that sprouted green moss from the spaces between, and you hair reached out to the sky, wreaths of leaves interwoven and twined / and you eyes, their angry tears dripped down and in return, flowers sprouted from the loose dirt, from the hard dirt, from the bits an pieces of sand that children's feet left behind when sprinting past you, flowers sprouted.
and you were reborn, a forest, what once filled you with hate now became you / you understood.
