i could write in my own blood
and you wouldn't see the hurt in my words
I still cannot believe that i can tame my tongue.
But i turn it from a dagger, and hide the dagger in the churned earth
among the spring seeds,
maybe when the flowers bloom,
they will bare a sharper sort of beauty.
Maybe when the pain returns pain
maybe then it will rain, and in the rain
I will see past  lies that looked so like truths
and they will be more plain
Perhaps naked petals will unfurl,
and wildflowers will change their minds to be replanted
Memories of that sincere girl will sprout,
and i will be refilled with trust to uproot my doubt,
Perchance i will trace the stems up to the flowers
and pick each golden oval, off of its shadowed bower
hidden there among the aged leaves and cowering
under the trustworthy arms of an ancient oak tree
look deep and remember that it has a place etched deep in my craggy heart
but that place is empty and not the same, as was the carving,
from the start