what blooms from my soul

each month a part of me dies,

but like a weed, i always bloom,

even amidst the most unfamiliar conditions.

while my remains are on the floor

i grow and stretch from the inside out.

a new desire,

a new motivation,

a new satisfaction.

each branch of my ever growing soul continues to sprout,

each leaf, a new open door,

a new dream to shatter me,

a new part of me to hold & humble.

each month as a new branch forms,

a new story is told.

a new life,

but the same old soul will remain in my roots from where i grow.

the soul which grasps the shattered pieces,

like fallen china,

the soul which holds the fragile feelings

of whats left of a broken man

the soul which cherishes the rays that beam into its cracks,

despite its brokenness. 

Author's Note

this is another old writing. im currently scouring the depths of my notes app LOL