Rooted | Priscila Flores

Rooted

Humans must require more protection than
layers of skin.
There’s something,
something inside,
squirming its way from the depths of my
abdomen to the exit my mouth provides.
I wonder,
could even armors of iron have been enough
to prevent this?

Do we ever know what to expect?

In hindsight, I see much clearer.
I drive backward,
nervously staring through rearview mirrors
in search of a safer path.
Yet again,
I can’t seem to find one.
Despite all efforts to avoid a future devoid
of emotions,
I perpetually land myself in reworked series
of episodic Delirium.

Is this what is meant to be of me?

I have always thought I have been capable
of flying.
Flying so high, all that lies below are clouds:
white, fluffy, silent clouds.
Other times I wish to fly lower,
scurrying through the air like a
hummingbird and frequently taking small
sips of nectar from climacteric flowers.

But if I could become those flowers,
embody those brilliant organisms that possess so much power,
would I be cured?
If I become the very thing that requires light
to produce sugars and survive,
would there be any darkness remaining
within me?

I have tried to root myself into the earth.
With fistfuls of soft, cool, soil,
I tried to absorb that light,
that energy.

But my leaves never sprouted.
I remained a dormant seed,
a desolate vessel of dreams,
until my heart became encased in bark
and I found that all I wished for was a place
to plant my feet.

Behind the Writing: This piece was inspired by the novel “The Vegetarian” written by Han Kang that explores a women’s descent to madness prompted by her mental illness, illustrated through her dietary lifestyle. I have always been drawn to writing that is empowered through symbolism so I tried to apply the emotions of the main character to the world around me and my own feelings of defeat.

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