how could I love myself
and hate the memories that have molded me?
my roots are planted deep beneath the earth
but petal by petal I am growing
making peace with my past
it hurts to stretch this much
but I have learned that I was made for more than just unraveling
and look at how far I’ve come, at how much I’ve survived
I’ve learned to love my dark parts even if no one else will
I’ve learned how to walk fearlessly through the fires I face even if they burn me

hallow spice roller
constable puck
holly sprout noon

roses' petals kept him,
                twirled him inside white throws,
         blanketed him in relief
and then sealed him up.
they painted him in pollen,
they walked him with stamens,
and he never looked up, either,
because his roses filled him.
they throbbed thorns beneath him
      that never struck him,
          and he never snuck down, either,
              because he had roses to swaddle him.
                     his roses kept him.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^'

To sooth the mind with planted thoughts
That are in soil that let roots grow
Mighty aging healthy tree
Whose seeds which we continue to spread
On earth that mighty men do tread

Let yourself become
an elegant sunflower
in a field of thorns

5:24 PM
30/8/19

Think about your self less
and your community more
plant the seeds of success
that open prosperity's door.

If seeds don’t tend to spill far from the tree,
I just can’t help but wonder where I’ll land.
In shame, my poisoned roots conspire to plant
unstable footing: reckless destiny.
You, cold in slow-birthed pain, beg to be free,
away from grasp of rope-red harnessed hands
while I struggle to find my feet and stand.
A narrative intended to repeat.

Don’t touch me. It’s a trap. I’ll never grow
into a pretty vessel with a use.
Dead roots infect their damaged seeds: echo
through gardens, plant by plant until they choose
to drown it out, to let the system go
and cut unfolding lessons at the root.

Control where to plant the seed,
But not how the tree will grow.