The White Weed

A poem about acceptance of identity and learning who you are.

Can pearls grow in the body?

I had a pearl that first sprouted in my skull,

I felt it split when the shoots came out

And began to tangle with my resisting being,

Through bone it travelled before it pushed through the marrow

Into muscles and down my arms and legs,

My blood turned elderberry

And I hated every pulse it took to spread the pearl further,

The pearl that was at the back of my mouth,

Balancing on my aching throat

And editing my every mutter,

I turned my tongue more than twice to cover the sheen,

And when the white hit my spleen it didn't show because I'd learnt how

To swallow back the passion the pearl now inspired,

And the desire.

~

The ever-whitening offshoots of the pearl started to show beneath my skin,

Bleaching my veins and creating new creases in the folds of my hands,

They clawed a path towards my pores and the hairs on the backs of my arms,

Strange how it never once hurt,

But nature is nature and my skin became like brilliant white stone,

The pearl on my tongue itched,

It sighed and begged for uninhibited display,

One day it offered a blind trade and I took it,

I placed the pearl on my tongue's end,

It was empty now,

The weed had taken root in the roof of my mouth,

When cut, I bled chalk.

~

The white had won,

But people saw the pearl and took it in their palms

One by one the pearl was lightly pressed to lips and hearts

And I saw it for the first time truly:

A rock of the shade of the whites of my eyes,

Birthed from my brain that I would see it as natural,

Not uncommon.

~

When kisses came regardless of context

I took the pearl and put it to my own lips,

To my own dreadful heart.

And there it lies still,

Safe at the centre of its intricate weavings,

The pearl is mine,

And I could have sworn it knew all along

That it was intrinsically in my flesh

Long before the symptoms showed