Posted in Beauty, Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

Tea Tree

Tea tree tells me I’m nervous,

sitting on my face,

as I step back in the game.

I was raised by feminist wolves,

in the wilds of the world,

and I feel

I should be braver,

bolder,

brighter in the face of danger,

but the tea tree,

like a concerned stranger,

seeing my frozen and unconscious stare,

into the mirror,

whispers,

“You’re worried about your skin”.

He told me,

I had pretty eyes,

my voice,

a volcano,

molten,

melancholy,

sultry syllables,

and yet,

today,

my voice shakes,

eyes teary,

tea tree,

trembling on my shaking skin,

because fear is a four letter word,

and a constant state,

when you are in love,

and need to trust someone with your heart,

and your broken out skin.

The bus driver told me,

I was beautiful,

and I shyly smiled,

hoping you’d agree.

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