Marigold's Garden

Rosa Laevigata

         My minds a Mad House.

Madness tucked in cozy sheets and fluffy pillows, as if its home is my home. Madness making me breakfast lunch and dinner cooking up new terror for me to feast on. Dressing me in insecurities and powdering my face with the same harrow emotion.

No one knows what's going on in this mad house.

And for some reason reason madness finds me cozy.

It said my tears are  like a bubbling spring,  slashing around in the showers of my depression.

It said the dark side of my mind brings a chill that reminds its of of climbing the Ever Glaze. Ice skating on the cold shell of my heart.

My Minds a Madhouse.

Madness to comfortable to leave. Sleeping much more than me, embedded in head to the point were we share dreams.

And it makes me mad, how cozy this madness is. Makes me mad how Mr.Mad boils tea and allows my emotions to pour over, and then leaves me numb to the pain. Still splashing in this spills having joy in my bad day.

This is insanity in this mad house makes me wonder if I'm actually lucid.
If this madness is so at home, because it was raised here.

   So I figured my self mad when I stood in front of the mirror with a pair of Amabelle's craft scissors. Red staining my palms and the countertop.

The banging on the bathroom door.

" Marigold open the door! D-don't do it! Let me in now!"

She was much to late, and I was to far gone.

Cutting away.

Unsurprising the bathroom door busted open, full off the hinges. My Dad's a firefighter so It was no surprise how easily he manage to bust down my doors, he did it so often I didn't even have a bedroom door anymore.

Horror spread across both of there faces and runny mascara sliding down Mag's face.

" What?" I causally asked confused.

There eyes moving from my hands to the the scissors and the red smear on the door and to the my botched hair hair cut.

Relief washing over them, well at least my Dad. Mags eye twitched trying to contain her anger.

" We thought you were-!" Her worlds trailed in frustration as she avoided the words.

      A lot of things I did I failed to realize the trauma it left on my own family. The fear they felt when ever I locked the door . How sick they felt when ever they saw the color red, thinking about all the other times they scrubbed it off the bathroom door.

To me it was obvious.

    I was cutting my hair and dying it.
I could see how it could be mistaken for something else. My family didn't have the luxury of being relived for long. No matter what I did they questioned my mental state and in many movies a girl chopping her hair off is sign of a mental decline.

Not my case, not matter how it may look. This more so about finding a new identity, growth I mean I hadn't combed my hair in months. I had went through 3 stages in my life.

Marigold, Post Marigold, and now Mari.

The hair cut was botched and the dye wasn't even, to many layers of red staining my forehead and dripping down my collar bone and white tank top. It looked absolutely horrible, and some would argue that it looked even worse than before. At that moment I could see my Dad' s eyes shift in confusion questioning my sanity. Had this been an improvement? Was this a sign of a mental breakdown or was it self growth. For the first time in a long time, I smiled looking at myself in the mirror a cheerful laugh left my lips with joy.