Growing out

Tags

broken, flower, garden, growing, love, poem, rise

“If you’ve never being broken, you wouldn’t know what it is to be healed”

   

  You picked me up as a bright, beautiful and glowing flower;
With the veil of admiration, you pretentiously plucked off my petals;
Stuck the tip of your needle in my stems;
You held me tightly in your arms covering the injuries you’ve imposed, with words savoured with deceits;
Emotionally, you made feel the cuts were self-inflicted;
Still I thought you’d nurture me
but you dropped my remnants
on a dried soil and crushed me with your feet.
Then, I realised I was just another flower in your hand but you were the first to pick me up;
I won’t wait to be picked up again but to your amazement I’ll grow again and turn this desert into a garden;
Even with this bleeding thorns, I’ll be crowned a queen;
one who knows what it is to be trampled on,
One who will rise with a distinctive elegance in the midst of same species.
These new petals will spread out in different colors with no limits.