The Bouquet of Petals That I Am
The Bouquet of Petals That I Am
I give petals to my part to hold a bouquet of moments fragile and heavy,
each one engraved with the serene struggle between what I expect from the world and what I don't understand,
inside, where my thoughts get lost like smoke in labyrinths of crystal,
these petals, fragile yet unyielding, are not shared with anyone along the way.
They are carried through the breath of my own endless journey toward nowhere,
I place a petal before my eyes, a window to the memories that gently hurt me,
I remember the fleeting warmth of days I couldn't hold onto,
the glow of aspirations too heavy for my hands that trembled in the wind.
I place it where I can see it now, it reminds me that not all light fades away,
and neither will the darkness stretch forever over my weary soul,
the scent of the future grows stale in the crystal glass with broken promises,
after the night that hasn't ended yet, the sadness of the truth I don't speak.
It is here, in these open palms, where the tension between me and the world
locks itself on the edge of the cliff, fragile balance on a silver wire,
expectations fall like rain from all directions, but still I move forward,
I keep stepping through mud and fallen stars, choosing to fight again.
Choosing, each time, to fight, to wither and be reborn every single day,
even when I don't know if the next step will hold me or let me fall,
in the mud that dirties me but teaches me about roots running deep,
I give petals to myself - a bouquet that I am, a flower growing from its own wounds.
I carry the curve of an unseen smile, hidden in the corner of my mouth like a sweet secret,
a small victory in the battle between who I am and who I'm expected to be,
I let myself be human in all my imperfection and daily striving,
the petals that fall, I don't discard them but collect and paste them on my skin.
With sweet honey on the wounds that heal slowly, like spring after winter,
they tell me a story after three in the morning when life is still,
to keep me alive when the weight of the day presses like stone on my chest,
about the fight between what I'm told to be and what I'm learning to accept in silence.
They're not perfect, but they're mine, woven from doubt and strength,
woven from moments of falling and rising, from tears and stolen smiles,
I give petals to my part - a bouquet that I am, not of finality but of journeys,
of uncertain yet content steps, I'm learning to accept peace in the inward journey.
I simply move forward, step by step through shadow and light alternating,
I surrender with grace to accepting where I am, even if I'm not there,
where I thought I'd be, but somewhere else, on an unforeseen yet beautiful path,
the bouquet of petals that I am is a broken flower blooming in the shattered vase!
Each petal is a day lived, a lesson learned, a tear wiped or spilled,
each color is an emotion I dared to feel in all its depth,
and though the bouquet isn't perfect, it's alive, breathing with me every morning,
the bouquet of petals that I am grows from me, I am the garden and the flower!
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment