There's a garden on my skin,
Covering me,
Hiding me from me,
Or maybe this garden
Is growing a new me,
Flowers blooming through
My cracks and scars
Of sorrow.
This garden on my skin
Grows to shrink,
Hides to reveal,
Heals to break
All over again.
When did this garden
Grow to such a size
That I cannot find
Beginning from end?
Why did this garden
Come to me
When I couldn't know
I most needed it?
How did this garden
Grow from stone
Set in broken molds?
The garden on my skin
Will soon die,
Will soon regrow-
Phoenix flowers of hope...
My hope...
I have hope?
Yes:
In the garden on my skin.
YOU ARE READING
Random Thoughts
PoetryThis is kind of just my brain and random thoughts I feel like sharing with someone in the middle of the night. Don't take any of it for more than it is because I'm always fine. Also, please don't judge the whole book by the first few poems. I promis...
