A shrinking violet
A wilted rose
A bent wild orchid.
That is what she looked like
when she sought asylum
For the th time.
Bright blue eyes
that once resembled California skies
looked dull and grey.
Glassy from the broken promises and bones
she had gotten accustomed to.
On a good day, she was like a sunflower;
Spreading infectious happiness which I admit
I was initially allergic to,
but eventually I came around.
Her warmth complimented
my chlorophyll filled bloodstream.
In the way that plants
needed their sun,
She gave me that gift
of the human touch.
She was my connection
to a foreign world
I had was not a part of
and no longer wanted to be of,
Something I had forgotten about.
When he spoke to her
she was Pavlovian
adhering to his every desire;
Every whim, she would blush
When he would take that treat away,
she rationalized, justified, twisted
all because she was wanted that approval, that validation;
his diseased touch.
It was like seeing bluebells
bathe in salt water;
Or putting a garden of foxglove
in unhealthy soil.
At least with my plants,
I can choose which nurseries to put them in.
With her, I do not have such an advantage,
I don't have the levity, I don't have the privilege.
I can control gardens, rainforests and such alike.
But I cannot control individual choice,
choice is subjective.
Having many different directions
like the petals on a carnation.
Some species of flora and fauna thrive
because of adaptation and the need for change.
I offer her a chance
to grow, to thrive, to mature.
I offer her a chance to rehabilitate.
I offer her an opportunity to be nurtured.
I offer her the gift of equality.
I offer her a place in my Garden of Eden
She has the energy of a wood sprite,
The charm of a dryad.
I am giving her the oyster,
not a looking glass.
I want her to be a part of my world, my collection.
But she stops, like a trained animal, she stops.
Humans are dumb animals,
Trained or conditioned to do what their masters say.
They are like dogs,
forever seeking that nonexistent treat
looking for that big payoff.
That imaginary reward and choose to punish themselves.
And I am the one in the orange jumpsuit.
I reject modern society and chose to recreate Paradise in my own image.
Had I chosen a socially desirable cause,
I would have been an entrepreneur, a leader.
Someone to be respected.
Instead, I am punished for what I believe in.
I can make gardens grow in the deserts of Africa
I can make it so that children in Guatemala
can live off papaya and mango,
instead of letting them go hungry
and sell cocaine to make a living.
Instead, all they see
Is Medusa in a green dress.
To them, I am no different than AIDS or famine.
I am a social pariah,
In spite of the fact
That I can cure most diseases and end world hunger.
I am branded, I am stamped, I have the scarlet letter.
They all judge me,
All except for one person.
The irony does not escape me.
The desire for connection is compounded
by the need to quash.
Quod me nutroit and all that.
She is my last connection,
an umbilical chord,
a remnant to my association
with THAT world.
She reminds me
of what it is like
to have an investment.
Again.
She calls them feelings.
What a wasteful concept.
Feelings are ephemeral,
They are not constant.
They are subject to change,
like the seasons.
She reminds me
of what it is like
to be connected, be acknowledged,
to be respected and honored
instead of feeling like a shrinking violet.
I wanted to do another Harley and Ivy poem but without the obvious, er, subtext. I wanted to add just a slightly different layer to the relationship. We all know that it is a Dominant/submissive one and who has the obvious roles. I thought 'What if there was some reason why Ivy tolerates Harley's most annoying habits?' This was done in freestyle and I am sorry if that is not your thing. I wanted to capture something a little different. That said, I hope you enjoyed it. Happy May everyone!