As a child peonies surround me
like my mothers' warm embrace,
these flowers, beautifully unharmed
a reminder of this reality that I live.
I daydreamed of being as free as this flower,
of the ability to just exist, without harm.
I am grown now, my daydreams twisted.
A kiss with a fist, a necklace made of hands.
Petals of black and blue, leaves cracked and broken.
Black and white peonies tattooed on my skin
full of love, full of hope
though sometimes flowing red.
I know anger, I've felt anger
but not my own.
I realized quickly that my life was not this of a flower,
or maybe it was. A lifeless and wilted flower.
One that had been harmed, not beautifully.
That had been grasped, not with a caring touch.
That had existed, with harm.