my past washes over me,
like tinted paint being splashed in all directions,
I cannot escape it,
it has poisoned my insides,
yet, I don’t run from it no more,
charcoal helped rid the last bit of sin from tongue,
yet flashes of colour still crop up,
still molest me in different ways,
its as if the world wants only bad people,
even when they meet good,
it’s not good enough,
I am either too bad for the good,
and too good for the best,
so I roam the streets alone,
they don’t want to go near me,
only watch from a distance in awe,
from the mere shock of rebellion,
but this is not rebellion to me,
this is nature,
this is beauty,
so I find solace under trees,
by the river, I find myself home,
underwater where no voice can project harm,
only swim amongst other beauty,
seaweed vining up my legs,
holding me down to go back to the womb of the earth,
it seems fear runs through people,
keeps them hostage and chases their souls to the end of the earth,
they forget to breathe,
they forget to appreciate,
and most of all forget to love