Where did this need for creation come from?
It's like I'm sat under this tree
In the garden of Eden, maybe
I've just been told to be.
But how could I be whole
When I am without purpose?
Temptation, whispering sweet nothings
I thought, 'how could knowledge hurt us?'
But I was just a child
And I could not have known
That with one act of carelessness
A seed planted within me had grown
The root of all my envy
My distrust and my resent
Sprouted the moment I asked for more
Now I sit, hands clasped and repent.
—
A/N:
Thanks for reading! My new poems are not very good but I'm trying to get myself to write again, so I thought I might as well put them out. Tbh I just put out most of my finished ones. I'm just trying to be proud to create something after so long! I might delete this and add more at somepoint but for now this is it.
