here i lie
drowning in the petals
of flowers long forgotten.
here i choke
on their thorny stems
and my salty blood,
alike.
i can feel myself dissolve into the soil;
becoming one with the roots,
and the clay,
and the stones.
i can’t help but feel at home
in the very foundation
of mother nature.
this is not death,
but rest.
this is not the end,
but the beginning
that comes after.
i guess i say it all the time.
but sometimes to grow,
you have to give in to death.
i, for one, have trouble staying above ground.
it’s so easy to sink 6 feet down.
easier yet,
to stay laid
in that sweet decay.
but i always force myself
to claw my way out,
again.
nails broken and bloody,
skin thin and weak,
hair falling out —
a corpse bride to myself.
i have to fall apart
so i have room to create.
i have to fall apart
to get things out of my skin
and off of my mind.
falling apart isn’t so bad.
it’s sifting through the pieces
that always leaves me
separated.
but i am so much stronger than i have given myself credit for in the past.
no matter how badly i want to rot,
i always dig my way out
just in time;
just before the roots wrap around my fragile limbs
like chains
in a prison cell.
they want to claim me,
but i’m more interested in reclaiming myself.
i continue to wrap myself up
in silky stems and floral fixations.
sometimes a hug has to ache,
so you know it’s working,
healing.
have you ever had a hug so good it hurt?
that’s my favorite kind of growing pain.
