Flowers May Grow In Sunshine Alone

A poem dedicated to someone very important to me. I don't know what to call this, a string of thought maybe?

We never used to get along.

I would run, screaming

to the attic, where my room

was, just to get away from him.

 

It was the things he knew

that distanced him from me.

It was those things, which severed

what shaky relationship we had.

 

Those were things--in my age

of younger days--that I didn’t know.

Secrets that weren’t mine,

but made me, nonetheless.

 

I don’t know how he felt,

and I suppose, I never will.

I have never felt his pain,

the pain that makes him, him.

 

The pain that will understand

all the mysteries and secrets:

a flower that will blossom

from blood and tears

 

from dried up, and neglected

soils. A flower that will

find solace from the grief,

and grow beautiful.

 

I misunderstood. But in

my childish naïve eyes

--clouded with fear--

I will say that I loved him.

 

I loved him, and I still do.

Through all my selfishness,

I have done something right,

they say.

 

They say how admirable I am.

To persevere through

the cold shoulder he gives.

I am not admirable.

 

He is. He has always been,

and he will always be.

Through the tip of his pen,

he draws and writes.

He writes down a part of him.

In his stories, he is happy.

In them, he imparts

his dreams and his nightmares.

 

He shows us a part of him.

But nobody will see past

that veil to the true meanings

of his stories.

 

I stand by his door, to knock,

and bring him a plastic cup

of bubble tea.

I hear his voice, telling me

 

to come in. The door creaks,

and I see him by the desk,

drawing. I could never draw

like him.

 

I tell him that I love him,

hoping it would make up

for the way I had treated him.

Hoping that a simple phrase;

 

a phrase of three words

could make up for the prejudice

of the people around him.

(And my ignorance as well)

 

Sometimes he replies with

a, “Thank you.” or a simple

phrase. (I don’t know if it

is for the tea.)

 

But it is enough. It is enough

to assure me that I will give

everything to make sure

that the flower grows

 

into something strong and beautiful.

Into something that they will never question,

ever again.

 

Author's Note

Say whatever you want. I wasn't really trying to do anything with this.

Reviews

[Legolas]

Amazing. This very important someone is very lucky to have you. You have such a great talent!