A zillion times, repetitively, exasperation feels not exaggerated of a term when 'Lotus blooms in mud' is articulated. Yes, indeed, most certainly it does! But, the mud has grown an oesophagus to swallow the lotus that grows on its surface because it is rooted in shame. The mud inside my rusty garden of a soul is said to be dirt or worse, nothing is spoken. Denial, apathy, ignorance, a mastery of not seeing stars on a starry night, blindness of heart not of eyes.There are no words, just decoration of plastic flowers over a land of quicksand to cover up as if there were a crime scene, the mud engulfs as many as you put on top of it but the process is unending. Perhaps, it yearns for some loathing, some hatred, some disgust, some disowning but there's none and nothing hurts like not being acknowledged, for it is the biggest slur. The presence is not present if not seen and what's not present isn't worthy of anything.