A menagerie of thoughts

Things that used to be second skin have been shed. I’m tender and raw.
The flogger is still, wrapped in a silk scarf at the bottom of a bag on the top of a shelf.
My collars got unlocked and tucked in a jar like a museum specimen.
Hopes shot sky high and crashed to the ground with burning wings.
Of course, I married Icarus. It just wasn’t clear until the burning body of truth hit home.
I’ve failed people I love dearly, including myself. And here I fancied myself a phoenix before.
I knew nothing of fire, then. I’m still learning.
One might think that an owl and a cat make strange bedfellows, but I know better.
The world is a surprising and cruel place sometimes.
Unicorns pop up in the underworld, their infusive beauty making it difficult to leave.
I’ve learned lions have sharp parts, and it’s silly to think you won’t get cut.
And as the poem says, even sunshine burns if you get too much.
Just like kisses sure as fuck aren’t contracts, and what would it matter if they were?
Contracts and promises are broken with enough money and desire.
It’s not all bad, though. A single schmetterling flies by. I remember there’s reason to hope.
How can I not, when I know it’s possible to play with unicorns and lions?
That’s a pretty badass world. Where choirs still sing, waters still flow, and clipboards still exist.
Magic happens. Jars can reopen and floggers can thud again.

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