something all used up.
where the people have come and used my being, just used it all up.
like an old worn down sofa left on a los angeles city street corner… to rot in the rain..
(after the people have gotten their naps and their stains and their relaxation.)
in the darkest most self loathing - people loathing moments, that bile strikes up again, curling up my esophagus.. and tries to be uttered into my existence-take two.
tries so hard to be birthed into my reality, even though i’d like to believe the real me knows.. better.
the tough times are tough
and the good times don’t seem to be written about, not as much.. or like how it was in the past.
but i’m aiming for it to be.
i’m aiming to get back to my roots.
sure my flowers have bloomed-have taken the time to sprout-and here they’ve bloomed.. and now they rot.
but i just have to trim those long wilted remnants of excess.. and allow my growth to begin again.
it’s just been winter, i’ve been encased in a winter i have yet to fully let go of. and soon it will be spring again in my– thought to be carcass.. and then my sprung resurrection will quickly catalyze to a beautiful summer.. i can only hope for.
my internal seasons have yet to catch up with Earth’s.
i will never stop growing.
and i will never not have flowers,
it is not in nature.