The Way Flowers Do

When I was born, my hair was raven.

It sprouted in patches: uneven, unpredictable,

And according to my mother, very hard to tame.



As my legs grew and my scalp found daylight,

The road from patches to curls began,

And went from coffee to cedar to sticky mud brown.



I like to think I grew into myself the way flowers do,

Yet I never really bloomed when spring came,

And my bud sometimes closes, even to this day.



I’d like to find a metaphor for the way my soul developed,

Beyond how the blue in my eyes morphed to green,

Beyond how my skin caught the sun and relentlessly clung to it.



But when I close my eyes and I think of myself,

When I think of all the summers, all the falls and winters spent,

I see nothing, nothing, and then all I see is red.



When I was born, my heart was crimson.

It cried from the pit of its belly: loud, deafening,

And according to my mother, very hard to tame.



As the world took me in and spit me out as if I were sour,

My heart clung to burning reds, except I hid its power:

Beneath indifference and nonchalance, beneath gray cloaks and muted gowns.



I like to think I grew into myself the way flowers do, that my heart doesn’t beat like thunder,

Yet it clouds my vision with scarlet and rage,

And it bleeds into my poetry like a damned infested plague.



I’d like to write a metaphor for myself that is not only red, but blue,

Make myself more than the intensity I see the world through,

So I sit here and remember, and remember,



And I remember when I was born, the land was red and white and green,

Its music a bursting yellow, its houses dancers in flamingo pink,

And according to my mother, way less hard to tame than me.



As the trees grew emerald, as the clouds grew pearl,

I learned to love in shades of pink, of purple and blue and then,

My heart burst in crimson and in rainbows just the same.



I liked to think I grew into myself the way flowers do, yet I’ve never been that tender:

My writing has always bled and my eyes have always watered,

The colors of my love have always stained the whole damn sky.



When I was born, the soul inside my body was iridescent,

And according to my mother, very hard to tame,

Now, twenty one years later, I look at the sky and yell:



Yes I am,

Yes I am;

Yes, I am.