A Fiery Flower

I can no longer recognize myself,

I've lost sight of what's real and what's not.

Why wouldn't I, in a world like ours?

Time has done a number on me,

Cracked my skull and wrecked my brain,

I can't pinpoint the exact moment when my eyes were cleansed,

Averted from the toxic smoke that emanates from the crowd.

I looked in the mirror for guidance,

For assurance that truly who I was before had been laid to rest,

Burnt to ashes on a pyre and whisked away.

I do not recognize the eyes that look back at me.

They have a darkness in them that terrifies me,

A difference that I'm yet to befriend.

By the time I became aware of my metamorphosis,

I had already bloomed into a fiery wild flower,

A relic whose allure and abundance of color terrified those who did not understand,

A rose whose sudden bloom in this jungle was entirely unexpected.

Change is hard but realization is gruesome and excruciating.

It spins you out of control and before you know it,

The darkness that you wholly detest, you've embraced with open arms.

The opinions you've taught yourself to avoid have taken you hostage.

No one knows the devil's face, 

The only surety we have against him is our never ending paranoia,

And the constant ridicule and occasional side-eye from the public make him real.

When you become unrecognizable, it's easier to swing the sword.

It's easier to accept whatever theories the masses have deemed to be facts.

Everything dark becomes the devil to you.

Everything different becomes a monster to 

theafricanwordsmith