Flower Fortune- Sweetbriar: Poetry and fragrance.

In a foggy hallucination I believed that I was the one,
an important figure in a wooden frame. A class ring shines bluish
gold, and once I kissed it to show my loyalty to the
Cause. That brotherly kiss and rip of heartstrings
as a goodbye that was never said rings in my ears. What
you don't say kills me.

I told my mother I was pregnant right before my seventeenth birthday.
She was eating madarin oranges out of can, her long fingers picking out the sticky fruits and popping them into her mouth one by one. She reclined on the couch, a cigarette burning on an ashtray beside her. Once in awhile she looked over to where I was sitting on a barstool by the refridgerator-I was looking at a rose Rev had given me two days before. It lay wilted in a vase, it's dry petals flowing over its dirty side. I told the news to her as I ventured over to the window, looking down into the street to see Harry's car pulling up beside my building. Mother, I'm pregnant. She was already a little drunk, permanately angry at the world for a lost husband, a bad job, and steeped in ignorance. She jumped up, her cigarette falling on the floor in a black ashy, stinking mess. She was screaming at me, I was still looking down into the steet, my auburn-haired prince was running up the stairs. I watched his arm muscles as he ran. I felt my mother's breath in my ear, her sickly sweet warmth flowing into my brain. I turned, my eyes searching to see if she had ever loved me, though I had known the answer long ago. You fucked him for his money, girl? You fucked him because his parents are rich? You will have to live with yourself, now, with a baby you don't want and a horrible little boy you call a husband. She grabbed a pan, but I stood looking at her, not able to fight back against the woman who had given birth to me. She grabbed the pan with force, the cold iron rolling between her fingers, I knew instantly she would try to kill me. I decided I would let her.

She began hitting me with all of the power she could muster. She aimed for my arms and torso, hitting and screaming, calling me whore over and over again. I watched her, letting her attack me, letting her move up towards my head. She began to cry but I felt nothing except the iron on my body. When Harry pushed open my door and yelled, I didn't hear him. I was still watching my mother as she dropped the pan and started to slap me with her bare hands. I saw a flash of green eyes as Harry wrapped his arms around me in a hug, his back turned to my mother as he shielded me and pushed me to him. He rushed me out of the apartment, his strong shoulders covering me as my mother followed us to the door, now yelling at Harry. Don't come back, you slut, my mother yelled and she slammed the door behind us. I fell against the hallway wall of the apartment building, Harry still holding my arms. You are safe forever, he whispered. Do you not feel better? I looked at him then, as tears started to fall. I have no one but you, I answered. It is you who will fail me now. He held me there, until he led me to his home. I will not fail you, he said, I will live for you, and we will have everything.

I now have everything.
Though I still want more, I have never been failed.
I have been only strengthened, only been touched.
I have been taught that there is always more to get. And I shall get it even though
I now have everything.

A child throwing a crust of bread to a seagull
inspires someone to write a ballad, though there are no rhyming words
that can make a reality.