You are a jellyfish.
You swim without fell purpose.
You hark of another world.
Some regard you as beautiful,
ethereal and glimmering. Glowing of your own light.
Some regard you as hideous,
a thing to be stood on and prodded with sharpness (of word).
You cannot deserve.
You have no harpoon tale,
no visible jaggedness.
Yet you have a poison. You sting.
A movement graceful yet foreign:
You bloom like a flower, with tenfold speed.
You close like a puckered, forced kiss.
You are a jellyfish,