Somewhere along the way I lost myself
in feelings of shame at my wants and desires
I dressed myself in stone and I receded beneath it
until only the embers glowed within my banked fires

flowers don’t grow in shadowed back alleys
they don’t open for the rain and sun and bees
if they don’t wither in the storm or open to the sun
no life will be risked or stolen or begun

so I’m chipping at myself with a chisel and hammer
what’s underneath will be a scarred, shrunken seed
and the first shaft of light will burn like a blowtorch
while I am revealed naked in my need

flowers don’t grow in shadowed back alleys
they don’t open for the rain and sun and bees
if they don’t wither in the storm or open to the sun
no life will be risked or stolen or begun

my tender skin released from its armor
will drink the world in with newborn abandon
it’s worth everything, the pain of exposure
as I relight the world with a single late bloom
as I meet the world, both the sun and the sting