A petal blooded girl
Spilling red roses and fuchsia
From wounds where wings
Used to be.
Wings of calla lilies, carnations,
Daisies for a daisied mind,
Flower girl with blooms in her hair
tied around her hips,
On the road, petals pooling,
Hands trembling with
She pulled from her own back.
Calla lilies linger
On her tongue, ghostly,
As teeth grind white petals.
Day, periwinkle lit,
Picks petals from her feet
And speckles the air
With her shame.
Ooh man. I graduated nearly two months ago, friends, and it’s only in the last couple weeks I’ve been able to look at poetry again. I’m in a post-graduation haze of trying to figure out what I’m doing with my life, how I want to live, the dreams I want to make reality. It’s all a bit overwhelming.
Nevertheless, I’m getting back to writing poetry! This poem is a sort of flex poem, if you will. It isn’t a piece I was overcome with inspiration to write; it’s a poem a found a prompt for and told myself to write.
Poetry and writing aren’t all about your muse singing beautiful language to you in a steady rhythm. A lot of it is about going out and grabbing words out of thin air – some good, some bad.
This poem is from a prompt I found while on Reddit: The
rose petal is a blood stain on the floor.
I found that to be a bit too direct, but I took the idea of flowers and blood and went with it. I wouldn’t say this poem is anything that stands out, but it’s a satisfactory flex poem to help me get back to writing my poems. But I mean, if y’all like it, perhaps it’s worth paying more attention to.