She reminds me of a plant because of her stems 

and the way they bud and burgeon through every space. 

She is kind, and indiscriminate, and withholds judgment 

yet the humans who roam along her path see differently. 

 

She sparks fear with her dark, impenetrable vines 

because they look daring enough to wrap around your limbs 

and coil tighter until her roots are cozy in your bones; a potential home. 

Then once again, that dreaded feeling we all know seeps into our souls 

a bleeding blackness of ink slithering between fibers of paper. 

No one seems to focus on her velvet leaves and glowing petals. 

 

I succumbed to her thorned, tangled trap once 

and the way my lungs felt strained is unforgettable. 

I was under her spell for years 

until one day, I gathered sudden strength to 

look up. 

 

Her olive leaves were swaying gently 

their edges prickly, but softer than peach fuzz. 

I reached up and touched her silver petals 

and their golden glow seeped into my fingertips. 

 

I was anxious at first, so skeptical to give in 

but one glance back down, and her vines had loosened. 

It had taken quite a long time, and a leap of faith 

and a dash of hope and a depletion of hate 

And before I knew it, the vines had turned to a strand of lace. 

 

Her bond is still tight, but now she sheds mostly light 

though darkness I have still a designated place. 

She became bearable the minute I broke away 

from what I thought she was doing to me. 

And I know I did not name her, but

you know her well, in some unspoken way.