The Skirt
Dancing among flowers I stoop to touch the mud To taste its divine. Blossoms flirt, smile unseen Choking on thorns each Jostle, bustle, hustle, rustle. Such cataracts my eyes My tired mind. Pity. I bow and pet them blooms Politely faraway Telling lies white Fake smiles all. Finally, at last I settle down on swamp. Proudly hideous Undercover beautiful. I ask of its thinkings It sings my song We create new stories. Much we've discovered Yet there's still more. Much we've seen And so we soar. Much we've tried But the world's all gore. I thank it for its beauty. I leave. I do not wipe my bottom. The mud runs down my trousers, Forming a brown skirt of awareness and wonder. ©Rachel Tan, 20 Nov 2018. Insta: @singingstories35 https://www.instagram.com/singingstories35/
2018-12-04 00:52:49
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