Growing Flowers from the Wounds

I am every jagged edge of rock waiting to be climbed; to see what’s beyond.

Climbing

The same softness of a human can be found in a tree.

It whispers the ugliest words, echoes of those who hurt the tenderness in us.

The photons call out in desperation, for the body to pay attention.

Running my fingers over the scars, I close my eyes.

Don’t store the detritus in your body. It will mire down your feet.

Where is nowhere? On the edge of sanity, where all the color and magic resides?

We will be in your mind with every breath. We will haunt you into your death.

I am a woman writing sins upon the sand moved and expressive accepting my lessons.

I can only sit and observe the winding streets of your hurt.

This world is not for the Otherkin to be coupled with Humans.