Lilac the ability to control myself

bring me your suffering
the rattle roar of broken bones

Had Melita not seen the flowers before, many years ago, she might’ve thought them a myth. One of those little stories people told their children at bedtime, based on hopes and dreams and faith or some shit. Presently, she just stared across the length of the Mathair, roots and all, with her arms crossed, annoyed and irritated, and stomped around the portions of this part of the world. “How many times do you think people have just wandered through here?”

Crouching down by a patchwork of grass and sifting through it as if some buds and petals would just magically appear, she huffed again, waving a hand in her uncle’s direction. “I’m this close to just asking for one from Rae or something.”

the honeybee

Bring me the riot in your heart
angry, wild, and raw