Rooted | Priscila Flores


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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