Spring Winds and Scattered Petals

I’m watching  the blossom fiercely wrenched from the trees by spring winds. A metaphor? I too, am suspended in the whim of the universe, a dance so random that I can’t always keep up. I’m still writing. I’m trying to encapsulate the process of self-empowerment, an adolescent anorexic turning the tide. It ebbs and flows a staccato experience.

Writing has given me the courage to shine light into my deepest recesses. Words fail. How do I convey my truth and share something that drove me to deny myself over and over? Like the blossom, I’m stripped bare by spring winds of my pen.

Image result for creative commons blossom

The Frayed Cloth

night skies

stars upon stars

choices 

endless moments of creation and expansion

things live

to die

blossom

white against a deep blue sky

secure

that image lives in my mind

forever

but wind wrenches

the petals free

life

an obtuse invitation

to colour my canvas 

to be brave, wild and free

but I resist the change

holding the familiar cloth of my former self

close to my heart

it tears softly

each fragment disintegrating

into nothingness

black and eternal

rebirth

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