Sit upon a hill and look down
At the school and the children playing,
Swinging on the swings,
Chasing each other through the grass,
Laughing and calling after one another;
So full of joy.
The memories rush back into your mind
Of a time when you were of an age
Sitting alone on those same swings,
Watching as the other kids played their games,
Wishing you could join in,
But no one ever asked you to play,
No one noticed.
Hide away inside yourself,
In the back of the class,
Wanting nothing more than to go home;
Sit alone on your bed and talk to
The lion that waited patiently for you,
Listened to your every word of anger,
Dried your every tear
When no one else would.
The tears stream down your face,
Mirroring the water the children pour
Upon dried dirt, turning it to mud.
Remembering what has so long been
Locked deep inside
Now bursting through the bandages,
The stitches and the seams.
Shadows dance across the playground,
Mocking and taunting you
As the children did so long ago.
They rip apart your fragile shell,
Stomp the pieces into the grass.
They snap your wings,
Shred the white feathers
Leaving you bloody with everything,
Trembling upon the hill,
Covered in the bloody remains
Of who you thought you were,
You pick up the pieces,
Shimmering faintly through the blood,
Their light fades and goes dark
As the rain begins to fall.
As you stand alone,
Broken bits of yourself within your hands,
Old wounds bleeding freely,
Open to the world,
The shadows vanish,
But the rain continues to fall
As freely as your tears.
A broken piece yourself falls from your hands,
Sinking into the wet grass,
And as you watch, it begins to grow
Into a single red rose
Green leaves unfurling,
Blood red petals unfolding,
Shaking off drops of blood and tears
Just for you.
Leaning down, you cradle the rose in your hands,
Holding it close to your heart
As you turn away from the playground,
Away from the children,
Heading back to your life,
The rose held protectively
In your arms.