Ambiguous.

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 move.

You are a jellyfish,
floating away.

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