Philanthrope (poem)

they tried to turn me into a misanthrope, and they failed... miserably

a graphic full of drawings of clouds and flowers as well as bubbles with the word “philanthrope” in a chalky purple font in the center.

I wasn’t born a misanthrope.

No, this aversion to humanity

was a curse wrapped in water-rotted ribbon

and given to me—hurdled at me, more like.

I wasn’t born a hermit crab

underneath an oversized shell,

nor was I born a fawn in headlights.

From bubbly to flat soda,

a slow-erode of outgoing

into ironclad introvert.

I used to be the kid with the bottle necklace

filled to the brim with a mix

of tapwater and Dawn dishsoap,

its stuck-on smiley face matching mine,

blowing bubbles at the park to impress strangers

that I considered new friends.

“Bubble gurl,” I was dubbed,

and I cried and clawed at woodchips by the swings

when told “It’s time to leave”

by adults who did not

(want to) know Me.

I yearned to have ocean-deep conversations

with anyone I ran into.

I divulged innermost musings to passerby.

I played the role of bartender at my first job as a florist,

eager to hear the stories of human blooms and give advice.

I was born heliotropic—

Friendship, the sun of my life.

I was born a lover,

not a fighter

of humanity:

a philanthrope. *This poem is contained in a current poetry passion project I'm working on. :D