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Guilt blooms in my chest like an unwelcomed garden. But luckily I chose to weed them out before they had any chance to stay and wind around my heart.
My fingers hurt, but not as bad as before. Maybe because the numbness is going away and the actual pain is revealing itself. But sometimes pain like that is good, if only because it means we are healing...
Quiet in its blooming, Branching thoughts of wisdom, Soft petals cascade. In lavender and gentle pinks. Then soul crushing blues, sweep the garden, petals peacefully cascading no more,
In our youth we are weeds Growing, unwanted In pots made for ourselves From the collarbones of giants. Tenacious, stubborn Stronger than flowers Who grow when invited And die when told.
I have grown to hate my grandfather. I have grown to hate my grandfather. I have grown to hate his smile. I have grown to hate his smile that used to greet me with such kindness and authority.
What it must be like to be untouched and unbruised. To be treated with such respect, honor, To be be held with such belief.
This is Me. I am Bare.
Even though you were my whole garden, I was merely a rose in yours At first, I thought flowers were beautiful
Why must you make me suffer? One error and I am faulty? Why do you uproot my regret and prevent me from my blossom? Even the most delicate rose has its thorns, and you still
Such simple weeds these dandelions
It is a flower's dream To be picked and given away. Be it to... A fair maiden, A child who still believes in princes and fairytales, A watchful and caring mother,
Average Nuisance, Unnoticed Weed. You grow--then you die, they do not notice when those ugly petals disappear from their garden. Trapped beneath the shadows of their beautiful leaves,
They said to my face that my garden was beautiful, that my dreams would have fruit, and grow vivid blooming flowers, but they walked away muttering It’s smothered in weeds