Re-Blossoming

Tue, 06/11/2019 - 12:03 -- madywho

You are no longer at my side. You are gone, the one who promised me you were here to stay.

 

I mourned in the weeds, damaged and broken.

Strength lost.

Sunlight producing no more color for me.

I have fallen hard. And instead of healing me, you have broken what is left.

The soured memories of our once held joy now poison in my veins.

 

How could I have been so naive?

 

And yet we were both naive when we met,

Spending hours in the grass, playing, imagining. Wishing.

I stayed naive while you became grown,

Grown in the cruel twisted ways of the world.

 

You used me, manipulated my joy and turned my own blossoming against me.

 

You pulled me from my earth, wore me in your hair to attract the world’s admirers, and cast me to the ground when I started to whither.

When I cried out for answers you blamed my own being,

My roots had covered yours, my leaves overbearing, my petals too bright they cast a shadow to all those around.

Now you were ready to show your own strength by tearing mine down.

 

You turn your heel in the ground and I watch, frozen and dashed along the dirt, as you go.

 

I had grown my roots wide to help you stand tall, my leaves had been broad to protect you when you were weak, my petals had shown loudly because of the joy you had given them.

Now all effort was loss.

You I once called my greatest friend has now laid me damaged in the darkness, summer over, winter beginning.

 

So I sink, deep, deep into the ground where you have put me. Petals ripped from me, roots broken at the stem.

 

I crawl beneath the soil and draw into myself. I must grow again. Stronger.

 

Through the pain my roots bury far into the darkness, spread out wide to hold me still.

I grow tougher and harder and sprout spines along my back, waiting out the cold months as the spring inside me grows warm

 

I bid my time, bud forming, holding myself together. Waiting.

 

The pain still lingers but this I add to my beauty. The red of the blood from where you have broken me adorning my petals.

An array of pain I change into a work of art so stunning even the best of gardeners will praise my making. And from that I will find my strength.

 

A strength found not from ripping others from their ground but from never letting anyone tear me from mine.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

ELIZABETH3434300

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