The Naked Cherry Blossom

a story of a cherry blossom tree with its journey through alienation and self-worth. this story is metaphor to a situation in my life. i came up with the story on a dock overlooking a bay. enjoy.

you are isolated, alone and still as can be.
afraid to make any movement, afraid to crack and crumble into dust.
weak and brittle, the gritty bark falls off your sides as your body brushes against the wisps of the winter air.
yet, the winter air is subtle and is bidding it's goodbye.
you feel the cold atmosphere multiplied contrasted amongst the others.
you are isolated, alone and still as can be.
you peek around, although you are hesitant.
the beloved branches of your neighbors are popping with small buds.
they excitedly shout "at last, the warmth hits thy spine and we are abundant with life !"
you look at your branches.
you see nothing.
you feel nothing on them.
the sun is shining, yet you all you feel is the frosty and bitter chills.
you are isolated, alone and stills as can be.
all of the neighbors' buds start to blossom with specs of bright fuchsia, pale pink and pasty white.
you smell the sweet pollen for the fellow bees and butterflies to suckle on.
they fly past you like you don't exist, for you have not had a sprout of a flower bud yet.
you are isolated, alone and still as can be.
weeks and months go by, staying naked and vulnerable.
you cannot contribute in friendly conversation amongst the fellow cherry blossoms, for you have no knowledge of the spring awakening or undergo.
you feel alienated and unworthy of being in the garden.
people gather to visit.
bringing films and feasts to parade under the patches of blooming life that is your neighbors.
everyone is far away from you, for you are lifeless.
you are isolated, alone and still as can be.
a woman comes along with an easel, a canvas and crate of utensils.
you notice her as she props the easel near you.
you observe the heavy pigments across the large metal pallette.
the colors do not match the garden.
hints of gloomy hues hits her paintbrush, consisting of umber, dark mahogany and shadow shades.
you become puzzled.
no fuschia, pink or even any white.
while curiosity consumes your trunk and veins, you feel she remained painting for what seemed like days, maybe even weeks.
you see her wipe her forehead, then admired herself with both her artwork and effort, with a grin.
she looks upon the canvas on the easel and whispers under her breath "its perfect, one of the biggest marvels iv'e ever seen, let alone captured on canvas."
then she gazes up at you.
she then sets the canvas against the stump she sat on while gathering her brushes and easel.
at last, you have fufilled your curiousity with an answer.
it's you, and every tiny detail that possesses you.
you view dumbfounded as she glances at you with the mutual feeling of warm astonishment.
you see her coming towards you, all packed up and holding her portrait of you.
she stood in front of you, eyes bright and in awe.
she says to you "you, my friend, are a wonder to the eyes of few. But alas, you are truly a remarkable gem."
she exits the garden, but you are absolutely certain that she will never exit your soul.
you are a master piece, for you were the whole time, yet you now know you are recognized of full worth.
you are content, as you deserve that.
you are loved, appreciated and regardless of being as still as can be, you never felt like there was a better time to caper merrily.

Author's Note

anything repetitive or any point that was overly-emphasized?

Reviews

[emmajoy]

The artist did what so few bother to do these days... she paused, she looked and.. she saw the unique YOU. Then, with brush strokes and ease she displayed the heart-truth of your doubting sweetness, the lack of arrogance and acceptance of self without self- pity .
Had
Your poem is sadly beautiful, start to finish. Had to reach for a tissue, read a second time, part of it . aloud... ' you are a master piece, for you were the whole time, yet you now know you are recognized of full worth. you are content, as you deserve that. you are loved, .. .. '

One thing you don't stress is that you must have had a few sparse blossoms pon your being, as hints of what might come.. when the conditions were right... and at last, they were.

Brava, Emilia...

[Emilia (Em-ah-lee-ah)]

thank you very much. this is such a kind review. to explain why i don't stress that the naked tree isn't blossoming like the other neighboring trees during the rebirth of spring was to stress that it accepted itself for its own beauty. kind of a conformity vs. individualism concept. also at the end of the piece, the tree realizes, it would like to remain the way it is and to just be. it does not hold any self righteousness or new founded arrogance among the neighbors because it was painted and appreciated, unlike them but rather being accepting of the other trees and not questioning or preaching to be its own uniqueness. the tree's new found self-worth compels him to be okay remaining the same or if someday blossoms into flower with different colors. the neighboring trees are who they are and the naked tree is who it is and it is not at any place to change them or help them understand itself. the naked tree is content with itself and others the way it things are. thank you for appreciating because the metaphor is personal xoxo

[emmajoy]

Many thanks for such a detailed explanation... forgive my ignorance. :)

[M.R Steiner]

To me this was very beautifully written, though my brain is dyslexia incarnate, but I found it to be very moving :) you painted the picture and set my point of view really well.