Blossoming buds work their roots into the cracks in my mind
Forcing aside memories and paths realigned
Making my own head somewhere I don't know
A garden I knew once that now overflows
With foreign flowers and vicious vines
That distort old and familiar lines
Into a network of thoughts that aren't mine
While outwardly I appear as fine
Everyone missed the inward signs
Between thoughts of logic and dreams of belief
Plants creep like doubts that never cease
My head was my own while my body laid bare
A barren wasteland so I could see all that was there
Until bulbous trees shadowed out the sun
Looming and cancerous and beholden to none
Towering no matter how far I sought to run
Then new ideas worked from the outside in
Sludgy concrete pouring to trap plants like hairs within skin
New paths forming around the imposters
Pain in the paths that unfamiliarity fosters
Growing to stretch around acrimonious accosters
Permanently fixing the growing protrusions
In hardening new knowledge and knifing intrusions
Dissolving the past is fixed in impossibility
But they say that growth is just a part of reality
***
Growth isn't always for the best.
We are told that it's a part of life, but I'm the end while progress and development is inevitable that doesn't necessarily mean it's right, especially when changes are forced by matters outside of our control.
On a brighter note, I didn't believe I'd get this done on time, yet I managed to do so, so at least there's some personality growth going on here.
Alex xxx
YOU ARE READING
Under My Sofa
PoetryWhen I was little I wrote in the space under my sofa. Now I write on top of it. That's not poetic. I'm just too big to fit underneath anymore.
