Your sprout

Alyssa Preston / junior

My skin is like petals; It’s delicate and light, soft and pretty. But it rips rough like metal. And when it opens, I dig inside to find somewhere I can hide, dizzy; To look at the burgundy layers that make it so resilient and smooth. But when it rips, it bleeds and it bleeds -And it won’t go back together after the glue, so I cry and try to soothe. What was once so strong, now, has wants and needs. The petals wilt and dries to a leaf. And eventually the entire flower dies; it cries and is covered in vine. What was once so beautiful has lost its motif, And lost its shine, in this garden of mine.

My garden is like a sanctuary. It’s built on blood and bones, beetles and bugs. I worked hard to keep it growing, until came January. A new seed sprouted, and when it spoke it promised me of beauty and slugs. And I couldn’t resist the thorns it had, jealous, it made me miss A part of me I had ripped apart.

But when the sun came out and the seed began to grow, I dismissed the feeling of roots in my lungs, and the leaves wrapped around my heart. I had to kill you, quickly, to stop your disease before it was too late; But it already was. You grew too pretty with your deceiving. Now my garden, my home, is rotting; the lovely flowers were unable to escape. It’s a good thing that I’m forgiving.