How strange is it that we live under the same sky as supervillians,
People that intentionally ruin our minds, our bodies, our hearts, our lives,
As if we aren’t so fragile after all.
But my god, we are so fragile.
Every word, whisper, everything, has the power to break us.
If we let it.
But how can we not?
How? How can they do this? How can they use their existence to hate in a world that can be so beautiful?
Do they not know that there are souls hiding behind that flesh?
A beating heart? A thinking mind? A whole universe hidden beneath the skin that hides our tired bones?
How can they not know?
That our heartbeats are so carefully tuned to a rhythm all our own.
That at any second our song can abruptly end, and our souls will go back to the sky, where they long so desperately to be.
Sprinkled sporadically with stardust that sinks into our skin to bring us vivid dreams of a place far away from where we stand, somewhere we can run wild with the storms in our eyes and the fires in our hearts.
Hearts that bloom like wildflowers, beautiful, bright, and free.
Free from those who are too young to understand that picking a flower will only kill it,
While watering a flower will fill its potential.
The potential of each of us is as fragile as the petals of a daisy.
Some people will never understand that we don’t need to be picked and placed on a table in a humble home.
How strange is it that we live under the same sky as people who don’t know how to water flowers?