I know every detail about every version of herself she has ever been. **I had to know everything, or is that what she believed. ** **I knew her grade school best friend, just didn’t know it would die off in grade school. ** **I knew her favorite sport, just didn’t know it would come to an end. ** **I knew her favorite food, just didn’t know it would be simplistic. ** **I knew her easiest subject, just didn’t know she’d be using it everyday. ** **I knew that one day she’d make powerful change, just didn’t know how. ** **I knew she was ambitious, just didn’t know her strength and courage. ** **I may know every detail about every version of her, I just never knew every detail of every version. ** **Until, once lived and discovered. **
A dozen roses, each representing something. I will love you until the last rose One- the way you put everyone as importance Two- the way you go above and byond Three- the way you continue to better society Four- the way you take care of others Five- the way you are self aware Six- the way you help others Seven- the honesty you have Eight- the encouragement you give Nine- the honesty you possess Ten- the way you boost others up Eleven- the way you bring joy and laughter to a crowd Twelve- the way you care for yourself Soon those flowers began to die off, One by one. A few days goes by , Only six more flowers- the rest died off. A week goes by- Another five flowers died. That be last one is kicking it strong. A month goes by, Its still there. Soon that last flower sits in a vase all alone- Though a reminder. You gave yourself those flowers. You promised to love yourself until the last dead rose. Symbolically, your love toward yourself should never die, As you are worth all the love.
It was one summer evening,
Crisp, cool air filled the openness of thoughts.
Surrounded by people she barely knew,
But trusted so dearly.
She felt an array of emotions
Deep within her thoughts.
The feelings of hate and hurt,
While she tried to be everything she ever wanted.
The feelings of love and hope,
While she got to be everything she dreamt of being.
Who knew self discovery could be so hurtful,
Yet at the same time be the best thing to happen.
The clock kept ticking ,
And the thoughts kept running.
Everyone just wanted to go to sleep,
Yet her thoughts kept everyone awake.
Morning awakens.
She was able to get a few hours of sleep,
However awoken with a new soon to be scar.
Yesterdays thoughts,
Filled the days thoughts.
This soon to be scar,
Brought so many emotions- without even knowing.
How could one scar create so many emotions,
How could it create so much growth.
The scar,
It was big.
It took up her whole forearm,
But even bigger- took up many thoughts.
Soon those heartbreaking, hurtful thoughts of herself,
They turned into so much self love and appreciation.
That scar, so big and ugly,
But that was her reminder.
That was her reminder that she is much larger than her thoughts.
She is much larger than her actions.
Most importantly, she is much larger than her past.
Growth is not linear, nor will it ever.
Driving 55 down the old country roads, The windows were down in her old 66 square body. It was about 8:30 one cool summer evening, The sun was setting. What beautiful colors- Reds, oranges, purples, and blues. There were a few clouds, But mostly a clear night. In great awe, she pulled off to the side of the road. From there, she turned up her music, That ole 90’s country was playing. She began picking the wild flowers, Forgetting all the things that made her begin to drive to begin with. The sun was setting, Making picking wildflowers a bit difficult. Music playing, She went and laid in the bed of the truck. Music still playing- that Travis Tritt song comes on, It’s a great day to be alive. The sun at this point is set, She’s now looking up into the sky of nothingness. The sky full of stars seemed dead and cold, A place once so magical now hurt to behold.
Who the hell am I I am much more than just my name. I have to be much more than that.
Hours go by, Days go by, And yet I still wonder who the hell am I
Teacher this, teacher that, Hey server can you get that, I am much more than the plethora labels given to me.
Each and everyday, A battle to be fought- Whether within myself or within someone else.
Through all of this, I feel as if I lost myself As if , I’ve created this monster.
She looked in a mirror and thought, “If I count the ways I love you” It’d be a plethora of ways.
From holding the doors, To walking street side, To the random acts of kindness that made me think of you.
She loved showing the ways she loves you, It brought so much brightness to her day.
She loved making sure sure you felt love everyday, Not just some days, but all days.
Counting the ways I love you is so easy, It came a little too easy.
She continued to look in that mirror. She continued to think, “If I count the ways I love myself” What would that look like?
She paused, Longer than she ever thought she would. She couldn’t really think of anything
It’s the way she’d get her favorite drink, Though not healthy and suppressed hunger.
It’s the way she’d snack on everything, Though not have a real meal during the day.
It’s the way of giving slight care, Though not enough care.
She did so many things for herself, Just enough so she could like herself.
She never went above and beyond, To show herself how much she loved herself.
Yes the ways to count I love you were easy, All too easy.
However, she is Important, She is loved.
She is worthy of all the love she shines onto others To shine on herself.
She matters, too. Self love is equally as important.
I am but a puzzle, Though I am not a complex puzzle.
Some puzzles are 50 pieces, While others are 1500 pieces.
At the end of the day, When perfectly placed, Every puzzle is a beautiful masterpiece.
I’m not sure how many pieces I am, Nor do I think I want to know.
I know for certain I am not done being built, I don’t think I ever will be.
Hour by hour, Day by day, Week by week, I get built.
Hour by hour, Day by day, Week by week, I get broken down.
When one piece fits perfectly, It seems as if another is difficult.
It seems as if it’s a never ending puzzle, but I am but a puzzle.
The crisp Georgia air One late day in June That demerbox, it’s playing that tune While all the kids play nine square
It’s about ninety five degrees Down in those old pine roots The kids gather their swimsuits There’s no room to displease
When we all jump into the pool To laugh and joke about All fun at CSG
Now you’re all nice and cool With no room to pout As we’re all free
She closed her eyes and began to speak
You haven’t been sleeping well You also haven’t been eating well
Those late night stares and Those late night splurges
You haven’t been connecting well You also haven’t been focused all too well
Those unread texts and Those blank stares into nothingness
You haven’t been doing work You also haven’t writing
Those piles of papers and books untouched and Those pens and pencils becoming unused
You haven’t been you I’ve been noticing
Those things you used to love I see you not touch or do
She opens her eyes, Only to face the reality of mirrored feelings
Monday. Six pm. On the dot. They run into the flower shop. They get a singular sweet pea.
Tuesday. Six pm. On the dot. They run into the flower shop. They get a singular sweet pea.
Wednesday. Six pm. On the dot. They run into the flower shop. They get a singular sweet pea.
Thursday. Six pm. On the dot. They run into the flower shop. They get a singular sweet pea.
Friday. Six pm. On the dot. They run into the flower shop. They get a singular sweet pea.
Saturday . Six pm. On the dot. They run into the flower shop. They get a singular sweet pea.
Sunday. Six pm. On the dot. They gather all six sweet peas. They go to the pier and sit.
Weeks go by, The schedule never changes. Six pm was their time. Their time to reflect.
The flower shop soon picks on such behaviors from this young individual They ask, “Why do you always come in at six pm and get one singular sweet pea.”
They blush with embarrassment. They answer, “Well, you see, I’ve struggled, Struggled with letting things go, Struggled with saying goodbyes. The flower resembles much more than you think.”
The flower shop, eager to know more, Asks the individual, “Symbolically, what does the sweet pea mean and why six pm”
Shining through their skin with nervousness, They answer, “The sweet pea resembles goodbyes. I purchase one everyday, Right before you close.”
“But we are open on sundays” The flower shops states interrupting them “What about Sundays, why don’t you come in”
“Sundays are special for me” They replied “Sundays I collect all six flowers, From Monday to Saturday. I collect them and take them to the pier up by the lake.”
“What’s so special about the pier? Do you still go at six pm?” The flower shop asked,  interested
“Why yes, I still go at six. I take all six flowers and I reflect on the week. One by one, I grab each flower and reflect” They begin to further explain
“I sit and I reflect and speak to myself. The first flower, represents Monday. The sixth flower represents Saturday. I take each one and I state three things about each day.” They state
The flower shop, Pauses them again, “What three things do you say about each day?”
“Good question” They replied. “I focus on three things. First I think bout the best thing that happened that day. Secondly, I think about the worst thing that happened that day. Finally, I think about what changes I can make for the next week to come.”
“Once I do that, I take each flower And I toss it into the lake, Saying my goodbyes.”
“But, but isn’t that foolish to just toss them” The flower shop asked. “They last longer than a few days.”
“While you are correct, They do last longer than a week” They begin to explain
“It takes away from the symbolization. The sweet pea resembles goodbyes. Goodbyes are hard, however, Goodbyes are often needed. If we continue to hold onto the feelings, After a while, those feelings may hurt. If we don’t say our goodbyes, we will let those feelings continually hurt.”
Catching on, The flower shop inquires, “Is this why you do it near closing time”
They answer proudly, “Yes, I do all of this near closing time as it closes out one week And it starts my next week on a set closure- to provide opening. While I can still feel everything from last week, It gave closure. It gave everything it needed to let me grow. It gave everything I needed to open the next week up, Open it in a new, cared, and seen way.”
They provided themselves with the closure time needs - one sweet pea at a time.
