i am still growing.
i stand a bit taller than i did yesterday.
through some (most) days, i was withering.
around a year ago from this very day, i found myself dubiously trying to grow roots in fields that would never see a drop of rain: the days my soul was ever-wandering, my heart much too proud. (a weary ignorance to the very nature of that cursed land)
i’d wake up, and try again, and try and try to summon the rain.
the thing was, i had learning to do.
nature does not make way for those who put faith into mirages.
and i had put myself all in.
i was knee deep in the weight that I had to bear each day, waiting for the storms to pass.
i realized that i’d have to give up many futile years spent in this soil, in order to start growing gardens inside myself again. blossoms were a faint memory that i had deemed as unreal fairytales (as i had forgotten how to be)
with unsteady courage, i began, one by one, to pull out the weeds,
and with each,
brought back my vines of green, my petals,
they whispered gently,
“you don’t belong here. come home.”
and i am now growing strong and tall,
sometimes i quiver in the wind,
but i raise my face towards the sun when she shines,
and i am no longer constrained to fences or gates,
i lay down in meadows where i’ve let my soul g(r)o(w) wild.