1.
There are things that are often better when they are left alone.
Hidden tightly in the buds of blood-stained tulips,
mere whispers of what could have been.
Tulips are toxic, though rarely life-threatening, so I ignore
the symptoms as each petal’s kiss leaves me dizzy and
nausea steals away my appetite,
reducing me to skin and bone.
Your declarations of love were always laced with poison,
each word leaving me covered in your favorite color, as
it slowly became mine too.
Red is the last thing I see before I hit the ground,
and I can’t quite tell if it is the color of your lips,
or of my blood staining them.
But no matter how much it hurts,
you will always be my favorite flower.
2.
There are secrets not even I can tell.
Memories of a place I knew,
long before red became my favorite hue.
I think I got lost in the prickers
but came out stronger on the other side,
even as my blood soaked into the holy ground.
“Sacrilege” the wind seemed to whisper,
but still I returned to stain the land.
turning what was once brown
black with the remains of a life I never had.
I bled my heart dry in the one place,
I thought would stay empty forever.
But one day of absence gave way to vines
and one month gave way to buds.
And soon my bleeding heart had grown to cover the land.
3.
Red is no longer my favorite color,
at least, I can no longer stomach the never-ending storm,
as each and every branch breaks under an acid rain.
I am not resilient.
I was not planted to grow back year after year,
but the hope that one day my heart could become strong enough to resist you,
that someday I too would be strong,
kept me coming back.
I think my favorite color is yellow now.
The color of daffodils and dandelions
and friendship
and survivors
and unrequited love.
Daffodils keep secrets better than tulips, anyway.
Besides, some things are better off if they’re left alone.