old self shedding

I cling to that flower

That I was

Through the eye of sorrow and loss of today.

I was either perfect or innocent or blind

But i was the me i convened with

And argued about

The safe me, the expected me

The solid self.

But the eye of this i matters

They are tired and lonely and brave

Not ready, melting, curious

Worth switching the frame for a change

Linger on who is looking

In becoming.

©2019 by Marika Preziuso. Uprooted Transplanted.