Tiny Little Strings

scissors

we were staring at
my flower beds
"But they're dead! Why are all of them cut half way through the stem?" you asked
i didn't know how to tell you
that
i had convinced myself
that I was not worthy of
having great things
that when the seasons changed
and my flowers began to sprout
out of the very soil
that the blood from slit writs
once dripped over
my hands became scissors
which plucked out any sign of sunflowers
That dared to tower
over the darkness that once was
that is what he had done to me
made me fear the good