Flowers on My Soul

There are flowers growing on my soul.
Roots are wrapping around my mind and boring into my bones. 
Beautiful and destructive, enchanting and distracting, romantic and frustrating. 

So romantic these flowers of mine.

Mine that were once his.

A gift. 

There is bark forming on my skin.

Moss slowing encasing all the important parts. 

Sad and slow, peaceful and chaotic, grey and bursting with colour. 

Oh this bark that grows,

it protects me,

and alienates me. 

There are stones crawling up my legs.

Caves hollowing out my ankles and filling with glowing crystals.

Strong and breakable, sturdy and shakeable, immovable and dancing. 

The stones come to me. 

No searching needed.

Ready and waiting.

There is sea water filling my lungs. 

It followed me from the ocean because it saw a home in me.

Fresh and sickly, constricting and liberating, connecting and separating. 

My lungs have come to love,

love the sea they now hold,

the sea would cry if it left.  

My body has come back to me, its been gone for sometime now.

And it won’t be long now, before this body of mine fits once more.

Once again I’ll call this body mine and dare to care.