Solaria's Poems

should i shatter it?

each day i carefully paint a layer of shiny gloss over my hurt
after years the delicate films have hardened
into a thick heavy shell

ive worked so hard
to be thoughtful and accomodating

my words pass through the sheild
filtered and distorted
designed to be soft and inoffensive
have i said what i meant anymore?

should i shatter it?

should i defend myself?
let my words accuse?
blame and insult?

the gloss blurs my vision
dulls my senses
i am near impermiable
i am stiff and unfeeling

should i shatter it?

should i let my face twist?
let my tears spill?
let anger raise my voice?

should i shatter it?

and see whats beneith?

but i already know whats there.
a child quick to make a cruel joke
with a superiority complex
yet cut to tears by the slightest dissaproval
who puts rules over people

No
I won't shatter it.

We drifted and danced with our streams steady pulse
I beleived it to cascade for eternity
but our river slowly ran stagnant
I wallow in it no more
yet I gravitate towards its glossy stillness
reflecting a before I quietly hunger for

under the gravitating star
a cascading sunbeam shines
within and from rainwater
to bend light no more tangled
a glass stream of rose honey pollen leaf sky and lilac

within me today and yesterday
is a star glitter river
i pain for twilight morning eternity

Some days I’m soft
I soak up the world around me
like a cat bathing in the sun
and I offer a gentle breeze in return

Some days I’m bumpy
Like a squirrel I bounce around
in my chair
and in conversation
I swallow up the room
consuming everyone who isn’t my friends
(who’ve lit the spark to my writhing flame)
so full of energy it rushes off of me like water down the rocks

Other days I’m brittle
The talking
the laughter
the lights
the bumps
they compound on each other
and pound on me
fracturing and chipping away
that shell out of which a repulsive thick gas hisses and pours
singeing the skin of anyone who even just brushes up against me

I can spend many days soft
kind and gentle to the scrapes made by others
I prefer it that way

But inevitably those scrapes will dig far enough
Enough to release that putrid anger
and I will spend the rest of the day
avoiding any dirt that could infect the wound

These textures
they belong on separate minds
Yet here they are
all over me