A watering can with not much to offer. But I swear, I am truly trying to grow. Watering with tears, fertilizing with mistakes and revelation; Not always easy to swallow. I've been hoping the harvest is worth my struggle in the end When I am at last, beyond a seedling.
When finally, I'll feel the tingling as they exit my heels and toes. Escaping my skin like a breakthrough; metaphor. My roots. Finally growing. The wind will have a lesser blow. My world would finally stop swaying.
Maybe I'd still have leaves by the end of the next storm. I might even relish in the wind. Enjoy the sting of its whipping intensity As it waits to reap pleasure from watching me flail , But is left unsatisfied.
It is such sweet sorrow to be grounded . Knowing I'm no longer a seed in the wind. I can no longer land anywhere I please. Because I have grown from being small, Weightless, without burdens, roots Or baggage. It's been years since I travelled light.
About the Creator
Rhi
A writer starting from childhood into what some might call "adulthood". Thank you for hearing me out.
Unofficial Challenge: What would you do if you were rich?
I love the kind of work I get to do in my career, but as I job search and browse apartments again due to another understaffed and unsustainable work environment that I did not intend to get into, my daydreams of better days consistently lean into the same question: What would I do if I didn't have to worry about my basic needs being met?
By Kay Husnick7 days ago in Writers
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