Yes, it is boring, I know, (a song)

Yes, it is boring, I know,
to hear me speak of what is broken in me.

I have shaped myself into a shell
built from every bruise that left no mark,
every wound that no one witnessed,
because they did not know to look,
because I do not know myself what is even the case.

I could write of blossoms and ripe fruit,
of things that rise and sweeten in the light.
But what is the point
of forcing cheer into a mouth that does not believe it?

Blood red, a rose made flesh
picture me in that shape,
the flare, the feathered green ecstasy of it.
And still I think of thorns.

Because when the eyes look at red
they do not see the gift of it,
the love of it, the offering.

They find the thorns first.

And thorns pressing through skin,
that is also red

Not the red of a rose held out in open hands.
Not the red of being seen and chosen.

Just the other red.
The one that blooms when no one is looking.

The above video was created by me, at least the visual part. The song is Reflections by The Neighbourhood. That song has been stuck in my head for weeks. I think this way it will rest in peace.