The Violet Soul

You eased my fears,
Yet to others, it was blasphemy.
I drowned in the silence of hurricanes,
Battered by torrential rains and cutting winds, 
In relentless struggles to express,
In longings to find myself, 
A little place, safe under the heavens. 

I waged a war,
With you, beside you, against you, for you,
Hoisting white flags against relentless denials.
My very existence crumbled,
Shame lingering—
A taboo at dinner table discussions, 
Something you were ashamed to speak of.

My existence had become a nuisance,
In a play staged by moral grounds and ancient belief,
I was nothing but a humble slave, 
Yearning and aching to be free, 
In bits and pieces, 
In laughters and sadness.

I was colored in violets,
Velvet yet covered in calluses,
A little something akin to wildflowers—
Uncommon in gardens,
Woven in novel naivety, 
Yet often uprooted, 
Even before I bloomed beautifully. 
 

I hope to visit ever-gardens someday,
Blooming with violets,
Under the sun, alongside sunflowers and roses.
I lit a candle of hope,
Rather a holocaust of self-worth.
I understood then,
How Atlas felt, carrying the weight of the world.
Clear as a river, yet cold as glaciers

In a world of meltdowns,
I felt insignificant,
Crushed and forced to mingle with vast oceans.
I long to see rainbows in clear skies,
To stand under the warm sun,
Not as a banished existence,
But simply as myself, as human.

In love, a little lost,
With the ease of smiles,
Among those cherished and loved,
Not as someone everyone expects me to be,
I hope to be seen for who I truly am,
Probably a little deviant from the norms of society,
But happy.