From Dust

you’re right. I am emotional–

but the amount I feel and the amount I Love

is not and never was the problem. 

The disgusting ease you felt

pulling, stretching, and twisting my Love

was the problem.

you were dismissive of all my affection, 

efforts, and feelings–

That was the problem.

Every time I hate your willing accomplice

I remember it is not my fault

you tied empty promises around my fingers,

and whispered deceitful sweet nothings in my ear.

your breath: disguised as a white picket fence house with two kids and a dog.

your sharp breath, which unraveled into deep scars,

covering every square inch of my body,

my fingers left bleeding–

That was the problem.

your unfaithful heart led a stampede over my soul.

your manipulation peeled back layers of my flesh

‘til I was just bones.

Yet, my bones were still too much so you kept going ‘til I was nothing but

dust. 

May I remind you, your ability to neglect, control, and manipulate

does not make you intelligent but instead makes you a fool?

for what the fool does not realize is dust falls back into the earth and

where I am buried the soil is rich.

and from my dust comes a bud

and from my bud comes a rose vibrant like my soul:

colored red, orange, yellow, pink

like the sky looking down on the fields of spring flowers that came from my

ashes–

the ashes you buried. 

While I am gracefully growing with the change of the seasons

you remain stagnant moving on to your next victim,

Innocent Doe Eyes and Flaxen Hair

who is a paper print copy of your past. 

While I drink from the Well of Living Water

some do not know the dangers of drinking stagnant.

Take this as my warning, my Loving Golden Flax:

stagnant lies, steals, and cheats

and hidden within its elated ego

it turns out to be so 

Weak.

Kind Eyes, while my seasons embed strong roots,

stagnant sinks deeper into the earth,

swallowed by a pattern it cannot break,

rotting 

in its addiction to manipulate. 

So I hope,

and so I pray,

from a place of deep love

I cannot escape.

That Your bones will turn to dust,

and Your dust will form a bud,

and Your bud will blossom into a rose,

that is brighter than the crisp kiss of a new day.

My Dearest Kind Eyes–

Together

We will rise.

Published by Sarai Makaila | All Rights Reserved