The Wild Vine

Looking back , what was I?

A wild vine left in the garden,

Watching every pot embraced,

Soaked in love and care from the gardener.

Yet here I stayed ,just a bud,

Untreated. Unloved.

Somewhere, I made myself believe:

You are not enough.

Too small for his attention.

So I forced my twines to grow.

Through pain, without food, without water,

I still reached toward the sky ,

Still whispering "Not enough. Not enough".

The garden bloomed,

With beauty and fragrance of love all around.

And there I curled , a wild vine,

Twisted by the pain I bore,

Crooked for all to see,

Vile. Disgusting.

And still, I grew.

Dreaming of a warm embrace 

Someday, he’ll see me.

Someday, he’ll love me.

Nourish me.

Water me.

Smile at me.

With all the might I had left,

I made one final push.

And he saw me 

Hideous. Grotesque.

He embraced me with knives.

Each swift movement cut me,

Chipping me away from his sweet haven.

I wasn’t meant for love.

I was never meant to be born.

A fool, to ask for tenderness.

What was my destiny?

To love… and to be slaughtered?

Now I still lay in the garden.

Bleeding. In pain.

Pain of regrets, pain of dreams.

I still lay.

 not in peace, but in pieces.

With tears and sadness,

I still lay.

Now, there's nothing left for me.

No will.

No energy.

No dream.

And yet,

I still lay!............