A Garden

It’s not my first time,

This bloom within my chest,

A seed so small, now sprawling,

Turning calm into unrest.

Should I hold it tightly?

Or let it freely grow?

Its roots dig deeper daily,

Yet where it leads, I do not know.

The petals ache with beauty,

Each color speaks of pain,

If I grip too hard, they crumble,

If I let go, they reign.

This seed, a gift—or accident—

From hands that brushed my own,

Did you mean to plant it?

Or was it tossed, unknown?

Day by day, it changes,

Its whispers fill my mind,

A garden growing wildly,

With peace I cannot find.

But maybe in this chaos,

The flower tells me true:

That every bloom holds choices,

And all the roots lead to you.