I’m No Gardener

I’m a garden for every word you’ve ever told me.  Every look you ever gave me was a seed that you pressed into my soil.  Every time you said you loved me something else was planted deep inside my being.  Only you could grow a bed of dirt into something beautiful.
Whenever your tears fell on my neck the seeds grew.  With every kiss of rain you nourished what you planted and made it strong.  The sweat we made together drenched my skin and pushed the stems higher.  You make me grow and never want to stop.

But you only planted roses, as stunning as they are.  A flowerbed full of roses and every color they come in.  The roses, they have thorns, did you think of that when you dropped your seeds in me?  The sharp prick of their tips digging at my skin as I pull up the ones you left.
You left.
These roses you planted aren’t all gone.  Their pretty petals and sweet smells stay with me and I welcome them.  Although, once in a while, I try to prune the wildness of their growth and the thorns stick in my skin and make me bleed.  Other times I just let them run rampant across my garden and swallow every corner.

Such a pretty bed flowers you left for me.  Each rose holds its own bite.

3 thoughts on “I’m No Gardener

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