i feel very extra sometimes…
    
    i feel very used sometimes…

            i feel like a dandelion when it wears its’ coat of fluff…
        
    people pick me up and admire then

******* away, forgetting about

me until i plant my seeds for the next bloom…

            more and more and more of me spread,
            
    too many places i am in now.

i’ve been blown too far, so i cannot
    
    find myself among the flowers.  i am just

            a **** that only people with childish innocence

    would bother gazing upon and

and i wish that i could just die.
    
                i feel very extra sometimes
                                and i wither with grief.

The leaves will soon turn
shades of auburn
for the twenty fourth time
in my life.
Darkness descends earlier now
than it did only a week ago.
I understand autumn
but I do not find comfort in that.
Some days you can feel her
clinging desperately
to the warmth of the sun
but she was not granted
that power.

The days roll on
and slowly her grip is gone.
Death prevails through the lands
planting frost where life once grew.
The birds don't quite sing like they used to.

But earth read the book of living
and knows when the magnolias must bloom.
I sit with her, my mother earth,
in hope she will one day
impart me her wisdom.
For I cling desperately to the sunshine
when I am blessed its presence,
but I too was not granted that power.
I know no winter,
only the storms of Jupiter
and I fear one day he will take me
before I learn
when my magnolias must bloom.

Roses now bloom
in my ribcage
and stability begins
to collect in these
inelastic lungs of mine,
still here to inhale a sunrise.
And in my bones
a cage is collapsing to the ground,
as sadness reaches its expiry date,
and I stumble upon Worth,
a new city I've found.

**A/N: Thankyou for reading! Please comment your thoughts on this one  (:

Bloom where you're planted,
All women are told,
To thrive.
We are told to wait to be chosen, to be cut, to be picked the moment we blossom,
Only to be an ornimental object,
Some temporary color,
A disposable distraction.
To simply be beautifully brief.
Well I,
I am more.
I am more than a windblown wish
Than petals to be plucked
Than a wildflower waiting to wilt.
I am rooted. I am grounded.
And I,
I Bloom.

Never forget
That only the uncut flowers
Get to keep on growing.

|b.g.|

Every rose that blooms shall wilt away one day...

The heated metal from the kettle steams the rebel in me.  The panic planted will vanish after a mindful pouring of tea.  Lets replace our hazardous waste with a serene moment of peace.  Funny the way honey laced stardust grace tastes - bringing about a face to please.
.
..
...
....
..... And release.....
....
...
..
.
 All of the tension fear and grief.
Stop with the constant judging of self by day of week
Start seeing the Synchronicities in and out of dreams
Visualize&Recognize; how to be still like trees,
Mighty yet stay playing with the rain and the breeze
Understand there is growth in what has been deemed defeat.
So let's bloom with groovy tunes and ascend above the streets.
Zoom into the moon reflectIng light with ease
Thank you for all your time sharing the air to breathe.
Hearts connected to the rhythm where we are beautifully free~

The bloom of creativity seems to be,
Wilting in the crimson soaked fields

Violent ammunition is seldom fruitful,
But I've been betting on the yield.