The Garden Still Grows
Poetry for the soul
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Patience......
A rose doesn't bloom overnight, or in a week
Sometimes these feelings got me weak; weak in the knees, memories got reality trapped as if I wear my heart on my sleeve still & it bleeds for ya.
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But I'm very much stronger from what perceives on the outter shell and see outside the box
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Trust in the process
It will grow into a beautiful garden....
About the Creator
LenrocTheDirector
I am the soul of this body✨,
FMOT: _Lenroc22
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Clinging to Childhood
The playground is empty, as it should be past sundown. There is a warm breeze, and I can see everything despite the late hour. What time is it, anyway? It could very well be past midnight. I can never keep track of time, especially in the summer. A prickly piece of popcorn hides like a stowaway in the left cup of my padded training bra. I stuffed the tissue in last minute— a decision I’m beginning to regret, based on the events that are unfolding rapidly before me. To my left, laying non-chalantly on his back, is my date for the evening. He is two years older, could probably grow facial hair if he wanted to, and drives a secondhand Honda. He may as well be a Man. I, on the other hand, feel like a fraud with my too-short short-shorts, sparkly lip gloss, and makeshift push-up bra. I keep my arms pinned to my sides as I feel the dreaded circles of sweat beginning to manifest on my brand new Abercrombie top. I cup my elbows with my hands and stare down at my hint of cleavage, praying that the tissue doesn’t pop out like a white flag surrendouring my lack of womanhood.
By Marti Maley6 days ago in Fiction
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