The Blooming

Call it whatever makes you feel good

for turning away from the mess

that I finally grew into. I own it.

Took me this long to finally fit into

the misunderstanding of my own eyes

and the way my heart beats much

deeper than the surface of a view that

can change colors when no one’s looking.

I have never stopped looking. But I’m not

looking back to twenty years ago.

I am the twenty years ago.

And you don’t see it.

Nobody sees it.

Have you ever lived a life where time stops

and never starts again?

The clock is broken.

Calendars blacked out.

It hurts to stand still

but the running… the running takes me

in a circle to the place when the clock

is still ticking and it’s loud.

I hear it. It rips through my heart

like my eardrums are busting open

and the blood in my throat is the wake up

call that strangles me with the hands

of time… the hands of you.. the hands of

my losses I can’t stop counting.

How could I not keep count of the blows?

I didn’t have solid footing and I can’t stop

searching for the roots I was ripped out of.

I didn’t grow with my feet in the flowers

and no one looks before they trample

a field that looks like nothing but weeds.

So I was weeded out

to make room for pretty things to grow

but all this time was the dirt that buried me

and I never died completely.

I have always been breathing in pieces

of a future that never waited for me to

catch up. Not everyone blooms the same.

~Stephanie Bennett-Henry © 2016

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