Gather your flowers

 Take your sense of growing terror,

pluck up the blooms of anger,

steep them in boiling water

and throw in a dose of salt.

Soon the jar develops a mother;

continue to feed it,

with the flowers of your rage. 

Bubbles will appear. 

At first a few, then a lot. 

Nurture the tulpa 

as it solidifies, 

a breathing creature made of 

your castoff feeling and

teach it well as you 

let it age. 

Let it love you, and you

love it too. As you were meant to do. 

Your mirror-daughter wants to be good,

and was strengthened by your 

sweat and tears and blood. 

Gather her, your child of flowers

to your heart--

then let her go. 

You don't know what she

might do next,

but you do know