My Presidio of Tape and Tulips

“love is just passion that can turn.” sometimes i wonder when people will tire of taking care of me. when my mother’s lilting sighs will lengthen as she dabs at my grape juice finger paintings splattered over a white dress like wretched purple stars over a drained sky, and my sisters will watch my broken bones rock and whisper behind prison bar fingers, “oh, it’s happening again.” when they'll really look at the hundreds upon thousands of zeroes, surrendering stars smacked on my bedroom wall, dangling like hanging heads, tokens of my inherent worthlessness, silent soliloquies echoed by lulls and sighs people are careless. i’m surprised they paid attention to my scatterbrained symphony this long. to the screaming siren song in my ears, the cherubim swimming and sulking behind a presidio of taped up tulips. i wonder when they’ll realize that the only reason i romanticize everything is that my life has turned to crap. my life is a jumble of shriveled flowers buried in sheets of tulle and crinkled tissue paper. this world will never be changed. i am not a mosaic of ivory, nor gold. this is not my life. this is the only aesthetic facet of my demented, crushed heart that i present. i’m incapable of communicating with others, so i communicate my beauty with the world. with you. thank you for not tiring of me yet.