sometimes the hearts we're given aren't ours to keepMature

Lately I’ve been crushing orchids in my palms,
praying the days are not so cruel as time has been
and in the morning, the sunlight casts shadows
where my heart fears to tread but these are not
the kind of loopholes I was hoping for.
There are weeds in this garden we call home,
call love, call Eden when we want to make everyone
we know jealous of what we’ve found here just
beyond the jagged mountains that have left us
bruised and bloodied but stronger, so much stronger.
Weeds and snakes that lurk beneath them,
and on bright days I follow the trails of their molting,
set fire to the  thistles I find them hiding in.
Pray to the gods that the smoke will cleanse our home
and send the darkness back into the corners.
Soon, I’ll be crushing berries to let the juices 
soak into the soil, let it bless the ground.  
There are cures in all the things we love 
but they do not always come with guarantees.

The End

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