MEGAN GERMAN

she mocks me     

flaunting her chartreuse ground,

reminding me of the life       

i’ve forsaken.

 

the bloodied flowers

drip battlefields

of nostalgia, they pile and bundle

periwinkle, rose, and orange.

 

just orange.

how strange

that orange can exist

in nature – nature all on its own,

 

an anomaly really,

but still quite enraging.

i hate orange.

i hate it’s mingling with yellow

 

into green.

and a pond of skin.

despicable. how dare

she – she didn’t even portray it accurately.

 

it’s wrong,

it’s infuriating.

i love to hate it.

i love to feel it.

i hate that i feel it.

 

she laughs at me

since i gave up

my security,

my serenity,

my sanity.

 

that life

i have willingly thrown

away. i am home

and i am miserable again.