Roots Of The Unspoken

Roots of the Unspoken

Some roots grow deep,

in living earth,

but mine begin,

where silence stirs.

They rise from words,

I never said,

from buried truths,

I learned to guard.

These roots are thin,

almost like breath,

yet strong enough,

to hold me still.

They hum at night,

beneath my ribs,

as if they know,

what I avoid.

Each one remembers,

a choice I made,

a moment lost,

a path I closed.

And still I grow,

with branching thoughts,

that shape my days,

beyond their reach.

My branches lean,

into the fog,

searching for things,

that never stay.

Sometimes they brush,

against the past,

and every tremor,

returns to me.

Yet I keep moving,

one inch at once,

toward open air,

that feels like chance.

For what grounds me,

is not just pain,

it is the pull,

of what I seek.

Roots hold my truth,

branches my hope,

and in between,

I learn my way.

I stand suspended,

between both worlds,

rooted in ache,

reaching for dawn.