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STRAWBABY
I grew stoney but no stronger
now I’m bitter like dandelion
still waiting to make human connections
but I’m being plucked from the garden
I mourn every version of myself
that I didn’t nurture
why can I only validate her
postmortem
"...every version of myself"
We evolve, ultimately plucked, to die which is why I believe phoenixes are real. Metamorphs as poets self-transfigure into winged creations. :D
Brilliantly composed and
Brilliantly composed and enlightened introspection. I love your work.