BlossomA Poem by MaskedthoughtsA poem about transitioning from your younger self into your older self. The feelings that come with the uncertainty ofall the new firsts. The way your younger self will always be a guiding part of youA pulsing
heart and racing mind A seeking
soul that can't be confined Black
stains and splotches of rainbows Who is she?
No one knows. Not herself
or her deepest words. Not even
the tiny birds.
Her mind is
escaping while her mouth stays gaping. Who is this
part of her? Who is this
little girl? Two beings
blooming into one, With
tangled roots and cut off limbs. With
glistening petals and scratched skin. A soul
eager for life A heart
thirsty for the knife. The knife
of love, the knife of regret. Whoever she
lets hold the knife , Has the power to drain her life.
He could
destroy the tiny cords in her heart and empty the vessel that bursts with light;
even so she'll put up a fight Where ever
the knife lands she will take her stand. Because deep
inside this new bud, there is an old flower full of love. Within her
she blooms and blooms until she soothes away the blues Her dewy
skin will lift the stain Her soft
voice will ease the pain Because
deep below on her roots is the girl who bloomed the fruit Feel within
her is the essence of her soul With her
she can stay in control .
New paths
and dangerous crossroads Jagged
hearts and severed veins No matter
what her heart will love again.
Deep within
the garden somewhere a flower blossoms. The top is
fresh and cute as could be But the
roots run deeper than the sea. With the
two blooming together there is a constant tether. No matter how far she floats
a little whisper will always hit her. With that note she'll comeback down With that
love she can always be found.
A loving
heart and curious mind An
adventurous soul that can't be confined Laughing
pains and splotches of rainbows Who is she?
Who cares let's her grow. © 2014 Maskedthoughts |
StatsAuthorMaskedthoughtsCanadaAbout"As a writer if someone falls in love with my work, I know they have fallen in love with my mind. Having no idea what my face looks like, they chose my mind. Art may be the only place a women can hold.. more..Writing
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