Tested and tried and discouraged, I dried my cheeks with my head hanging low.
I manifested a truth, blessed with courage, i died in defeat, then my corpse began to grow.
A graveyard turned garden, and every sin pardoned, how it wilted, resurrected, re-bloomed.
My pain became art and you led me to light, rose me once more from my tomb.
I was as bleak as a brisk, off-white sky,
I was despondent, and living in impending doom.
Weak as a privileged young child, or so I felt, I thought that those around me choked on my fumes.
When confronted and challenged by the outside world, i chose to delay, hide and use.
Now I'm haunted, nearly unwanted, and my fingers calloused, so I stay here faithful, singing the blues.
The snake of self hate slithers infinity round my ankles, whispers derogatory words in my mind.
Not to suggest I'm the god of the gods, but surely I'm not serpentine.
The lake of old sorrow floods at inopportune times, and though I swim with skill;
Still, I ache for tomorrow, bad blood in my veins leaves me weaker, dark, and ill.
The garden whose origins sing of my death grows a lush, sought after summer crop.
But perhaps their steady growing will not soon come to pass, if the snow in my mind won't stop.
Born in the dead of an odd nothing winter, i never felt much like a girl.
And my sisters all birthed in sweet darling summers, we must vary based on how we meet the world.
A blanketing snow over looming evergreens feels so safe and guarded and calm,
The silence besides the hollow whistle of winter's wind feels like home.
I used to hide under the branches of pine trees and practice my silence and pray
Thank God for the seas and the many degrees of our suffering, to remind us we're more than okay.