biomimicry

a juxtaposition of the natural and the synthetic.

biomimetics or biomimicry is the imitation of the models, systems, and elements of nature for the purpose of solving complex human problems.

biology (n): the study of living organisms, divided into many specialized fields that cover their morphology, physiology, anatomy, behavior, origin, and distribution.

the natural. red roses (version i).

how do you tell someone that they taught you to look at a seed and see a flower? you've planted a red rose in my ribcage, roots twisted around the muscle, turning my body into a garden. it takes over my vital organs, stomach and lungs replaced with flurries of leaves, a stem woven into my backbone, roots reaching into my limbs, serve to replace my veins with new pathways, serve to replace my muscle tissue with soil, serve to replace my bones with thorns. my waterlogged limbs only serve to fuel the vice on my soul. this hybrid of blood and water pathway does nothing but pump fuel to the dainty petals. this iron gripped muscle of mine trying desperately to return the blood to my fingertips only to be met with the great flood of what this flower needs. my darling rose needs to be watered, the roots are the only way for her to drink and there’s no space for roots than in my veins mapped out for her to take. my darling rose needs a way to stand tall, tying it to my spine is the only way it can fully bloom. my darling rose needs everything that my body can give, needs the leaves and what other room than my ribcage can they grow. my darling rose needs to turn the bud into a bloom, and how else will he do that inside of me other than by taking away the parts of me I thought I needed and repurposing them to suit him. and everything I cannot give is slowly replaced by the necessities of someone else - lest this darling rose wilt away.

What’s in a name by which we call a rose? For a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. So would I, were I not a rose called, retain that dear perfection?

mimicry (n): the action or art of imitating something or someone, typically in order to entertain or ridicule.

the synthetic. the road by my window.

I glanced out the window above my bed and I saw an empty bridge. I stepped closer to the glass, peering down with a bit of misplaced apprehension and I saw an empty crossroads. I saw no cars.

For the sake of context, I live in a big city, where someone is always on the road. Seeing no cars was weird. It was strange, to glance into the night and not see headlights paving the path across the river. I watched with the seconds ticking by so impossibly slowly, breath held, and finally, a car appeared. And then another, and a few rounded the bend over to my right and suddenly the cars were back. Suddenly I could breathe again.

For those few precious seconds, it was as if the world had glitched. I couldn't see the lights travelling over the bridge and suddenly, the darkness of the asphalt matched the darkness of the tides below and the ocean consumed the bridge. There was no bridge, just darkness and splatters of moonlight reflected back at me.

For those few precious seconds, it was as if the world was void of people. I couldn't see movement, I couldn't see headlights that marked a driver, at least one person, and possibly passengers, going home, going out, going somewhere. I looked into the night and all I saw was asphalt paths looking back at me, and the stark look I gave out into the night, partially out of confusion and partially out of curiosity was met with cold, unending darkness in the stare of the asphalt back at me. It was if I had looked into the void and it had looked back into me. And these roads, however unfamiliar without life populating them, looked at me as if it recognized me. It looked at me in the same way that we catch the eyes of strangers. We do not know each other, these empty roads and I, but we recognize that we have something in common. I nearly tore my eyes away, I was afraid that the darkness didn't just mistake me for a friend, that it knew something in my gaze. I am afraid of what it might have known in me.

For those few precious seconds, it was as if the roads by my window were seeing me for the first time. We looked at each other, both not having seen the face of the other unobstructed by curtains or car tires or people. It was us, just us, staring at one another, pausing in a moment to experience something new. It looked at me the same way I looked at it, with a fear, with a curiosity, with a desire to know one another. And I have never felt moved at first sight, until we saw each other. I looked at him, and he looked at me, through the glass. And we both wanted to know the other. And we were both moved. It was intimate, in a way that seems impossible for strangers. And yet there we were, peering into one another for a few moments.

I looked away, the cars returned. My friends swept me away. We walked to class. And in my mind burned the darkness of asphalt, and the flickers of moonlight in the water. I stayed up that night. And I saw the darkness again, and this time I knew it.