I walk upon the flowers.
I prefer to feel their kiss upon my sole,
To touch their delicate faces
And crush the colour from their virgin petals.
I would rather eat them and taste their beauty
Than gaze upon the destroyable, the unsensible.
Their beauty makes you believe they are strong,
Like a tower that rises far above the seed.
A stalk compared to an ant,
A sky scraper among the speckles of dirt.
I never trust my eyes,
And what they see, what they tell me.
Their lies are like gossip: ripe and full,
Convincing me I can walk upon the waves of an open meadow.
The flowers are not as sturdy as they seem;
Reaching up to heaven,
Only to be smashed beneath my tired bones.
I tell you, I walk upon the flowers,
I tread past each and every one,
And with a heavy foot I break them down,
When all I want is to be supported,
To know that those I trust are not weak,
That they can and do want to handle me.
I was a flower once, but I have become an ogre.
I have been bombarded with the will of the world,
Made larger than life,
And now I walk.
I walk and I am learning that I must tread lightly
On those who love me,
Because if I don’t,
I will kill them,
As society once killed me.