Sparkles

The gloss on the outside drips. Sticky.

Every time she tries to hug herself

Her arms get stuck in sugar sludge

In its sparkles, doused in bubble gum pink.

As the heat rises and the sweat-infused gloss slides off

There she is.

She is the blast of wind catching in your throat

And whipping hair into your mouth.

She is the sharp sting of a deep paper cut

That makes you cuss and gasp.

She is the breathless pain that fills your chest

And pulls tears from your eyes.

She is the rainy duvet morning

The fly in your soup

The eyelash in your eye

The sand in your socks.

She is the raw and the real

The little things that remind you

Irritate you

Reflect you.

If you are mesmerised by the gloss

And chasing the sparkles

Then she is too much

She is too fiery

‘dramatic’

She is ridiculous, insane, depressing, frustrating, annoying…

But wait until you see her laugh

No, her REAL laugh.

Wait until you see her dance like leaves in the wind

Wait until you hear her howl under a full moon

Watch when she is all the elements rolled into one

In her element.

Then she is the chocolate covered strawberry

The balmy warmth of the sun

The music of the waterfall

And the goosebumps on your arms.

While you’re busy chasing the sparkles

In your fear-induced obsession

While you’re too repulsed and afraid

Of her darkness

You will never see her light.

She is all light

She is ablaze

She is volcanic lava

Melting you

Burning you.

Quick, meet her there

Fearlessly

Before she glazes over

And rolls herself in the gloss again

Bubble gum pink, with sparkles.

open-hands-woman-sparkles

Image: sevenintentions.wordpress.com

 

 

 

 

 

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