Garden Between My Ribs
There is a garden between my ribs,
A hidden place the world can't see.
It blooms in silence, softly lives,
A patch of green inside of me.
I never chose the seeds it sowed,
They came from storms I couldn’t flee.
Each broken word, each heavy load,
Took root beneath my shattered sea.
It grew through cracks, it pierced my bones,
With petals made of ache and flame.
A tangled web of buried tones,
Of whispered grief without a name.
It learned to rise through ash and dust,
To find the sun through darkest skies.
It taught me how to hope and trust
When every other voice told lies.
There in the hollow of my chest,
A thousand wildflowers remain.
They blossom still though never pressed,
They bloom through heartbreak, loss, and rain.
The garden holds my quiet wars,
The scars I wear, the dreams I keep.
It weaves my sorrow into stars,
And cradles me when I can't sleep.
So let me carry what it gives,
The thorns, the roots, the bloom, the sting.
For in the garden that still lives,
I am the soil. I am the spring.
Copyright ©
Vohn Redulla
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