"regrowing" poems
I am a sunflower
I am the Son’s flower
radiant
glowing
pollinating the earth with the seeds of joy
I am a sunflower
I am the Son's flower
mighty
growing
bending but never breaking under the strength of the wind
I am a sunflower
I am the Son's flower
repopulating
rejuvenating
regrowing a generation focused on self-growth rather than world-growth
I am a sunflower
I am the Son's flower
shedding tears for the hopeless, feel, and the weak
for the ones who don't have the strength to grow
for the ones who need just a tad more sunshine
for the ones surrounded by drought
I shed tears in hopes of giving them joy, hope, life, and happiness again
I am a sunflower
I am the Son's flower
Jan 6, 2018
Jan 6, 2018 at 1:39 PM UTC
We think death is romantic
Because the same lilies our ex bought us
On our first date are neatly draped
Over the caskets as decoration
(But there are no flowers in our arms
As we lie alone inside)
We think death is liberating
Because we imagine the shackles
Of society falling off our wrists and ankles
As we fly to a better place
(But in reality
We are locked in a prison
Beneath six feet of dirt)
We think death is infinite
Because we can never return
To the people who harmed us
And the house that was never a home
(But our bodies are not eternal
As they slowly decompose
Back to nature in the ground)
What we fail to realize is that
Life is romantic, liberating, and infinite
Romantic in the form of a sunrise
Climbing over a calm sea,
Liberating in the form of birds
Traveling to anywhere they please,
Infinite in the form of flowers,
Dying and regrowing in the spring
So on the day that you make your decision,
To end your (romantic, liberating,
And infinite) life I beg you to reconsider,
Because you may already have exactly
What you are looking for.
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 2:21 PM UTC
handrail, wall, ceiling, stair
tumbled down the whole flight
by mistaking the door
for the staircase as the door
for the bathroom
as doom loomed near
nothing had been more clear
I've been falling down stairs
my whole life
bruising, aquiring contusions,
bleeding, clotting, bones snapping,
regrowing,
I'll be okay, I'll be okay
if I can just manage to crawl
back up to the party
to the... party
to the...
to...
blackout
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 4:13 PM UTC
the air touching my skin was noticeably warmer this week
and today is the First of March
and people are beginning to talk about Daylight Savings Time
and there's that familiar excitement in my chest again
the Spring butterflies returning to my stomach
every time I smell the electric ozone scent of
growth
energy
power
life
carried in the warm, wet breeze blowing from the west
it's the chill down my spine
and the recurring gooseflesh
anxiously awaiting all the unknown
possibilities
opportunities
drifting in on the wind
every day it seems the Sun changes color a little more
shading from the hazy white-blue hue of Winter
toward the bright hot yellow-orange fireball of Summer
and I swear I can taste that color shift with my skin
licking it up
cat bath of photons
drinking it down
sunlight pouring straight into me as
endorphin
serotonin
dopamine
adrenaline
altering my basic chemical makeup
transforming
regrowing
my Self
coming back to life
waking the **** up
waking the world up
I can feel it
I know it's time to move again
time to run again
time to drift again
time to dance again
time to **** again
time to kiss again
time to drink again
time to feel again
feel these things again
feel awake and excited and anxious and nervous and alive again
I can feel all of it beginning right now
with every new sensation when I step outside
I feel the familiar twitch of that little seed growing in the center of me
stronger each day
getting ready to burst
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 4:37 PM UTC
In the enrolling darkness
I awake to life once more
Healing after you last left
Regrowing my heart you ripped out
I see you as you are now
The happiness and life in your eyes
The joy my suffering has brought
The remains of my heart filling your empty one
No more, life is now mine to command
To appear before you, the person you made me
While celebrating my pain with your demons
You stand shocked, the thought of me horrid
I stare into your eyes
Once a portal to paradise
Neither say a word, mutter a sound
A moment conflicted with history
I unsheathe my sword
A sword meant for the death of the devil
I drive it through your rib cage,
Puncturing your lonely heart
You stare once more at me
Blood filling your lungs
I reluct to shed a tear
Not for what was, but for what wasn't
I pull my sword out
Your blood now decorating it with honor
I step over your corpse
Warmer now then it ever was
A few places forward
Lies your new lover, a newer specimen
Around him your demons praising
I walk to him, waking him purposefully
He sees me, his last sight
A ghost from a distant past
I leave him to Hela, a ritual for her
The blood angel marks his fate
The demons I slaughter
Their words not but poison
Lies that fuelled an old life
Their corpse the foundation of a new life
Mar 9, 2021
Mar 9, 2021 at 12:10 PM UTC
Write it down, You fear people forget you.
You’re a garden, where children pluck roses
at daylight, singing about the beauty.
When night falls, they trip on roots they can’t see.
With the cold wind at their backs, they leave.
When day comes again, no beauty remains--
Petals and stripped stems crushed by tennis shoes.
Would you want a garden stripped of beauty?
Maybe, if flowers grew again in sunlight,
maybe children would return, laugh, and say,
“See how beautiful. See the beautiful!”
Was it not beautiful yesterday?
Lying dormant in the earth or sprouting,
know your roses will always endure here.
Growing, regrowing, roses bloom without thorns.
If you can’t see it, know you are lovely.
For the effortless way you let them leave–
your petals perfume the feet trampling you.
Alone, you wait out the night.
Even then, you are lovely.
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 9:35 PM UTC
The leaves are red and brown and rust,
The days are drawing in as well,
The colours of the sky do change,
And mighty rain clouds tend to swell.
When fluffy socks replace bare legs,
And cashmere sweaters reappear,
And loved one snuggling starts again,
Regrowing your hair, down to here.
The crackling embers on the fire,
The chick flick movies watched, again,
Hot chocolate, laced with something strong,
Comfort listening to the rain.
When bedtime starts to sound so good,
And spooning makes a welcome comeback,
Making love til way past noon,
And dried up twigs begin to crack.
The beauty that is Autumn time,
My favourite time of year,
Some people greet it with such gloom,
I greet it with much cheer.....
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 10:26 AM UTC
I am learning how to use breath as a bridge
between the processes I can and cannot control.
I am suspended between automated habit and conscious intent
on a trapeze of purpose and accident.
I am training my impulsive heart
to sit in tranquility instead of running away,
to be patient and discerning rather than hasty and indulgent.
I am rebuilding my visceral canals
so light can permeate my bloodstream.
I am rerouting my neuronal highways
so the path from A to D stops skipping over the sights held at B and C
and everything else in between.
I am repaving the roads
so thoughts stop getting stuck in potholes
revving their engines fuming exhaust over the sky.
I am reminding myself to be gentle,
to reach for understanding before frustration,
to take my perceptions with a grain of salt
and a second {and third, and fourth} look after I've stepped back.
I am regrowing the recognition of truth and positivity
amongst thorny storm clouds,
re-establishing the detection of poison-laden sweets and crowds.
I am slow in learning, but quick to try again -
recurrently re-working, re-claiming, and reminding.
I am in a continuous cycle of dismantling and transformation -
never who I was a minute ago,
and not yet who I will become in the moments to follow.
I am tiptoeing the tightrope of letting go
and embracing possibility,
delicately dancing along the divide of singularity
and infinite expansion of being,
flirting with disaster and divinity,
and dining with my ego-death.
My city is under constant reconstruction,
but the scaffolding doesn't shroud the sculptures soaring through the sky.
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 6:20 PM UTC
theres no telling what you'd find
if you crawled thru my mind
demons screaming
burned and bleeding
phantoms haunt me
beat me down
fragile darkness
all around
fear to fail
all the time
abuse has left
but still I'm blind
but whatchagonna do
which way d0 I go
nothing seems to work
stuck on a low.
stand back up.
back on your feet.
suffered the losses.
walk past the defeat.
a million demons..
crawl thru my head.
lingering souls,
of memories undead.
shake it off.
don't waste time..
take yourself back.
regrowing spine.
get past the sadness.
get over the rage.
its a re-birth..
a coming of age.
Sep 4, 2010
Sep 4, 2010 at 8:22 PM UTC
The sun is back!
I feel it rain down on me
I smile back up at the sun
And let it soak into my veins
The snow still remains
I feel the dark days melt along with it
I lay there, even though the ground is wet
And look at the sky
Wondering
Are they watching down at me?
Can they see what I cannot see?
Do they hear what is hidden behind words?
Do they want to help?
I can feel the sun brush my skin
I can feel the hope regrowing in my heart
Maybe I can start anew
Breathe fresh air
Now that I can feel the sun
And smile back too
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 5:21 PM UTC
Meander down the halls,
Touch the broken walls,
The walls that surround you heart.
You watched them crumble,
You watched them fall,
And now you pay the price.
Alone with the hurting,
Alone with the sorrow,
Praying it'll all get better tomorrow.
You let them in,
You let them see,
And now you're back where you used to be.
Day by day, brick by brick,
Rebuilding that wall.
Regrowing the thorns,
Stitching up the places that are now torn.
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 5:35 PM UTC
What is this thing that we are holding in our hands, this creation, put a finger on a small screen, is this how we get in "touch" with the world..or is this how we lose touch with it, lose touch with reality, the nature of life, the actual social activities, the talking, the conversations, no..really getting in contact, face to face, not Facebook to Facebook, go out, feel the air, listen to the wind, the rustling of the leaves, run barefoot on the grass, connect with the earth, feel it moving, breathing, listen to the waves and the fluctuation of the seas, to hell with artificial lights, go outside and feel the sun that nourishes you with nothing but health, lay awake in the night and gaze upon the beautiful stars, shining, glimmering across the sky, feel the rain drops hitting the earth, the smell of wet dirt, recognize the beauty of the snowflakes as they gently expand and gather upon one another, admire the beauty of the regrowing plants in the spring, become one with the universe, this is not who we are, this is not where we belong, everything has become artificial, cold, rigid, dark, sad, we are told how to live, how to talk, how to walk, how to die, where is the freedom..my home is out there.
Dec 7, 2017
Dec 7, 2017 at 8:58 PM UTC
People always say that time heals.
But the more time that passes, the more painful it becomes.
But on the other hand the more time passes the easier it’s getting for me to be without you.
So... in a way time is doing both,
Hurting and healing
Burning and regrowing,
All into something new.
So always be thankful of the past.
For without it, you would not be the person you are here today.
Nov 25, 2018
Nov 25, 2018 at 2:27 AM UTC
I am afraid that the space between heartbeats means nothing.
Your fingers are hooks in my ribs pulling me up, and up.
To everyone else it looks like I am an angel ascending and you are god,
divine, loving and all consuming.
But the hooks are knives that tear me apart
and my ascent makes me feel like a fish that's about to be gutted.
I was silly enough to think god meant love.
So I twisted and thrashed against sandpaper fingers,
and got thrown back into cool water,
soothing my skin , regrowing my scales.
There’s another now,
and his touch is tender,
his touch is kinder.
Less like a hook and more like kiss but,
I don’t know what to do with these cotton fingers on my skin.
Soft is a sensation that is foreign to me like water so hot it feels cold.
I’m just afraid that love means ripping myself open,
with no knowledge on how to stitch myself back up again.
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 12:08 AM UTC
Sitting beside people with their own spinning worlds;
Blooming & withering silently or aloud.
I wish to pluck flowers from their minds;
Dust their thoughts, like pollen, here & there & blow them away in the wind.
Those thoughts would fly away,
Breaking & regrowing on the way.
Merging with fragments of many other thoughts;
Some alike & other utterly disparate.
They could reach someone else's world;
And might disappear or may start to bud.
With intensities, oh so different;
They may keep persisting with the same purpose they were meant.
If only I could whisper into the wind with my feeling blowing away too;
How beautiful would it be if it reached someone just the way I wished to.
Someone who might be wishing for a solace;
I wish I could bring a tender smile to that face.
Nov 23, 2018
Nov 23, 2018 at 8:52 AM UTC