the rawest hurt
the deepest
nastiest
gash
is rejection
not from strangers
not even
acquaintances
it is from
people
you have let in
let them
make home
inside yourself
let them see
the hoarding
under beds
in crevices
the skeletons
in closets
in attics
in the graves
of your land
the stories
amounted
generation to generation
snugged on your shelves
this is why
the persons
that know how
to cause the most damage
knows the ins and outs
of your house
brittle the walls
as if bones
dusty the surfaces
as if forgotten
hollow the soul
as if abandoned
once too many times
before
fried to the roots
as if no survivors
they try to disguise
the nature
of their intentions
as if they are the sun
that can provide you
warmth
but the sun
is a star
on fire
that catches flame
to any
that get too close
and
you
let them
come close enough
to be scorched
by them
now you are ashes
that cannot grow back
from this grief.
YOU ARE READING
WALLFLOWERS BURN WILD
PoetryTODAY WE SHED OUR EMOTIONS ONTO THESE PAGES LIKE OLD SKIN AND GROW INTO ANEW ONCE TINY CATERPILLARS NOW GORGEOUS BUTTERFLIES COCOONED NO LONGER WE BROKE FREE NOTHING TO HOLD US BACK NOW + THESE ARE THE STORIES OF OUR REVOLUTION.
