I find it scandalous,
How my hope remains knitted in my arteries,
Despite concurrent deaths,
How somehow the wings that I have grown,
Move through the thickest gales of wind,
Broken bones, fragmented love,
My eyes blurry like a moss filled pond,
I continue stepping through fire and glass,
with tears leaking into a waterfall,
Scandalous,
How my mind plays tricks on me,
and at how he still treats me,
As if that of a worthless pin,
Despite no love in hearts,
His arrogance remains embedded in his mouth,
Eyes that cannot see past his own desires,
Never accounting for how others feel,
Only playing with his own thumbs,
Then there is me,
Who despite being a wrecked ship,
Continues to throw life jackets,
to those who are drowning.
I save him,
Out of engrained nurture,
and the understanding of loss,
He is like my mother,
A monster behind a beautiful face,
His neurology fixed in one way,
She like him is stuck,
Everyone applauds them,
Rewards them for keeping up such an act,
But the narcicissm is blinding,
I then realise that God made them like this,
They remain in states of delusion.
I accept that they will never understand me,
Or see in my glory, for all that I am,
of all the colour I hold in my chest
Making gold from the mud they bought me,
Funny.
I must have been delerious,
Having fallen for such a hoax
A Scandal.
Both of that of my mother,
and my lover.
At how they could never love me.