The Roots

Tell us your truth

Write what you know

they will say over and over again

Then it's:

Stay in your lane

That wasn't your truth

You've never talked about that before

How would you know?

I 'm sorry I don't look like my traumas

that my bruises don't shine their vomit purple-black-yellow like a kid mixing together every paint color they can

that my scars don't glisten in the sun and throw rainbows into the air

that my cuts are buried like a peasant in a unmarked grave

that my burns have turned into freckles that line my arms now

I'm sorry you couldn't see my pain

the marks I hid

the decades I feel asleep exhausted from the shaking and gagging on the waterfalls coming from my eyes

the stories trapped behind sewn shut lips raucous trying to break through til at last they conceded bursting back down my throat to live in my gut still restless

The stories I tried to tell at 8, 10, 12, 14, 16 too,

But I was too young

why would you believe that I knew

Things you had no experience of yourself

things that made you question my mental health

and yet what do you do

but sew up my lips tighter

not wanting to be the one who started the fire

I'm sorry my roots grew where darkness thrived

and you never wanted to take that dive

All you saw were the pretty blossoms and blooms

that I labored away at in a pitch black room

and glued to my branches before people would loom

Cause that is what it took to keep this story from ending in doom

From all of this I have luckily grown

I heal and I rise like a phoenix in hyper drive

on that wheel of fortune like its my favorite ride

spitting out these stories that held me captive

body and mind

and one day I will find a place that feels like home

where the voices in my head can be mine alone

and my roots will be there smooth as can be

cause I've cut off the thorns you couldn't see

And then I will nothing more than me