I am a tree.

On this tree are beautiful flowers.

As I age,

i grow with wisdom and nurture. Beautiful flowers start to bloom

However some of the pods never sprout a flower, quilted with a hard shell.

The beauty of my tree shifts. Every-once in a while my world tilts…

Some unsprouted pods fall to the earth.

Cracking open they unleash the toxins of past memories.

Whispering insanity.

Feeding my roots with wisdom. I learn that the same pod will never fall again.

I am aware.

Aware that these pods are keeping me from blossoming. A new day brings light and a new wiser older me.

They drop and then crack open unleashing the toxins of memories. whispering a sense of sadness. Feeding my roots with wisdom. The same pod will never fall again. I only grow even more.

Aware only when something shifts or if I am emotionally vulnerable.

the problem is

I’m never aware of the sadness.