Jung and The Flower

Poured Down

Black and dark,
just like her soul.
the colour of her life.
the colour of her mind.
the colour of her story.

She felt empty,
no use she had.
no beauty she looked.
no mind she thought.
no smart she was.

Not functioning,
nor beautiful,
like the others.
miserable is the word that resembled.

Just like wilted flower,
that had to be disposed.
that had to be cut down.
that could only ruin the bouquet's image.
"useless" she told to herself.

She's dried, yet didn't want to be watered.
she's damaged, yet didn't want to be fixed.
by others i meant that.

When she's finally down on the soil,
the rain poured.
it watered her.
it fixed her.

Some humans hate rain,
with the reasons they made.
it damaged their makeups.
it ruined their plans.
it stopped their activities.
not for the flower.

The rain gave the wilted flower her colours back.
it gave the flower her soul back.
it gave the flower her strength back.

The flower's no longer wilted,
she grew.