My Garden

I think a lot. I think far too much, about every detail of every day; every experience and every thought that blossoms in my head. In my mind is a garden, filled with millions of tiny flowers and weeds, and I’ve scrutinised every single one of them, inside and out. You could pick one, and I can tell you when it was planted, how often it was watered and the height to which it grew before I either let it die, or continued to care for it. I tend to my garden every day, all day. I never stop. Every new experience is a handful of seeds thrown in my direction and I HAVE to catch them. I pick them up, one by one, and make space for them to grow. Sometimes I plant weeds. Ugly, poisonous plants that quickly grow out of control, suffocating the beautiful flowers and twisting their jagged roots deep into the earth. I watch them destroy my hard work and cry when I realise that I’m the one that gives them life. I water them when I shouldn’t, and pay them extra attention when instead I should be ripping them from the ground. But it doesn’t matter how many flowers I let die or how many weeds I plant, I can’t stop caring for them because even though they’re poisonous, when they’re thrown in my direction, I HAVE to catch them.



On the darkest of nights,
She sits by the windowsill
A gentle breeze beckoning,
Whispers from within
She watches, eyes wide
The window shaking silently,
Voices trembling endlessly
Fracturing the glass
Ruby red and dripping,
Shards between her palms
The wind howls outside
And in her mind
Shattering the glass
On the darkest of nights,
She sits by the windowsill
Cracked, and in pieces
Seeking release,
But never succeeding.

Although it’s quite melancholy, and perhaps even a little dark, I was completely content and happy when I strung together this little bundle of words. Take from it what you will, but know that despite all the struggles you may be facing, you are cared about and loved. ♥