Irena the Dragon

Another slam poem by yours truly 

When she’s blue, she is icy, turmoil rises to the surface of her skin but she wouldn’t let it show if you paid her, not now, not ever, she wouldn’t let it in. The way words coil and snake their way to our red hearts and cling onto the things we hold dearest, and evil tongues spit vipers that coil around our strangled veins cutting off the circulation and thoughts and fresh ideas but not once has she ever flinched in the face of those demons. Dry ice freezes steel until it shatters, so you’ll regret that knife in her back when she recovers and decides it’s about time you learned a lesson, you always froze in the face of contention anyways.

 

When she’s red she’s a hail storm, pelting out new ideas and theories about how the world would feel if we were all sane, if that girl from pre k had treated her a bit differently, if that guy from grade 8 had really cared, if her loved ones had celebrated her for what she is, and holy hell how much she’s grown from it all, ice is stronger than sticks or stones. Rocks larger than glaciers are forced apart and broken down by ice in the cracks as her ideas expand and break apart adversity or competition, she’d destroy you in an argument; trust me, I know.

 

But when she’s green, she’s earthen serenity, the way trees root in to ground themselves during a storm and anchor in, she’ll draw strength from her surroundings to adapt and grow, find power within. The way vines flourish anywhere and flowers make us stop and smile, she is versatile and extraordinary all the same. Given the love that you’d share if you were a friend to her she’d prove her own affections with the same care you’d give to a garden, and the same support mountains have underneath, strong forever, able to take everything and resist crumbling.”

 

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