weeds: a collection of poetry

Nurture/Nature

𝐍𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞/𝐍𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞

I come from a nest made of bricks,
From a land of broken sticks,
Broken necks and tragic tricks.
Where the weeds eat the flowers
And the wolves eat the rabbits,
Where my wings ended up so damaged.
Where the matriarch makes herself sick,
Keeps her bones brittle like the twigs of her home
So she can regurgitate worms into my throat.
I swallow and I choke, but I cope.
An abode where fly away fathers are forgotten,
Where brotherhood was found and lost in,
Where sisterly love has yet to blossom.
Perhaps the weeds or the wolves got to them.
A spot that lacks serenity and softness.
Where they braced my wings and braced me for impact,
Where I have no spine, where they've got my back.
Where the harshness of the foundation climbs with support,
Where I plummeted before I was caught.
I come from a nest of nets
Where my wings don't spread but I still have legs,
Legs that found strength in the nourishment I was fed.
I come from a tree of tucked in beds,
From goodnight kisses on foreheads,
A place I never slept, but was always at rest.