I've always thought that I have healed myself from the open wound before. But I've never realized that all this time, I'm just covering up my wounds along with the changing of seasons.

The spring breeze;
    that blows my past worries away with the dancing sakura petals
The bright summer sun;
    that reaches upon my darkest corner, showering me with its
    utmost warmth
The changing color of leaves;
    that turns my life resolution from monochromatic to vivid hues
The cold white snowstorm;
    that keeps piling up, upon my open wound

Not even the four seasons could ease the pain,
Nor the mesmerizing landscape could help me escape
Nothing, but myself to end this war alone...

Till the ends of time, until another season comes;
these struggles keep goes on...

Are you okay?
Are you alright, are you fine, are you good?
Are you adequate, are you decent?
Are you emotionally stable, sleeping without crying, smiling because you want to?
Are you breathing without questioning, are you waking up without trying, are you eating without throwing up?
Are you reading this poem right now and thinking no?
Are you thinking for the first time, will I ever be okay?

You will be okay.
You will be alright, you will be fine, you will be good.
You will be adequate, you will be decent.
You will be emotionally stable, you will sleep without crying, and smile for the happiness blooming inside of you.
You will breathe without questioning, you will wake up to a new day, you will eat easily
You
are going to be okay.
So please smile sunshine
It’s a fine new day
To be okay :)

- a.g.

Admit it.
That you're a potato that grows underneath the soil.

Admit it.
That your roots have been spreading along within earth.

Admit it.
That nobody has tried to dig a hole.

Admit it.
That one day, you'll grow beneath the ground.

Admit it.
That you'll grow stronger roots and eventually a branch.

Admit it.
That you'll grow into a big, tall tree.

Acknowledge it,
starting from beneath the ground, you will gain even stronger roots to hold you up until now.
The planted roots, to support you,
that has grown into a bigger tree, heading up towards the blue sky.

Everything has been torn to pieces
just like how old roses falls
there is nothing left to show,
not even specks of dust,
from every single side, front to back,
nothing have been left behind.

Hardships, despair, lost,
they say every goodbye comes with a new start,
but what I get have always been a goodbye.

Old dead roses fade away
and so is my existence
the once sharp thorns started to blunt
just like how bland my days have become

But every day is a new life, a new page,
roses will grow again,
prickling its thorns to those who hurts
Standing tall and pretty,
Just like how I will stand for myself,
Rejuvenate and grow
along with those roses loved by everyone
And until then, I will become,
that roses behind every thorns.