The Garden of your Mind

You’re not sick.

It’s a trick of the bramble
To steal the light
Or outright strangle all other plants.

You’re healthy.
Not a sickly flower
No. Your roots are strong.
You have that power.
You’d go a long way, given the chance,
I’d say.

But all is not equal.

The bramble bushes got here first;
Poisoned the soil; slaked their thirst.
The dice were loaded in the prequel.

It’s not you.

You’re planted in a poisoned ground;
Rich roses growing all around.
They mock.
They jeer and call you crazy.

Don’t be a thorn-bush.

Be a daisy.

The brambles, and the roses too, they want you to grow corn.
They’re rulers in this garden, through power, strength and thorn.
They’re growing all around you. They cast a heavy shade.
They tell you not to struggle so: “It’s how the world is made!”

We all start out as daisies. And yet we’re free to be
Any plant we want: forget-me-not or spreading tree.
All we need is our fair share of sunlight, rain and space.
We could make this garden into such a lovely place.

You’ve been bruised by bullies, twisted by the liars.
You were not built to serve those brambles or the briers.

The truth is: you were never mad.
It’s reasonable to feel this sad.

It’s not you.

The pain is real. That much is true
The way you feel can’t be denied:
The hollow aching space inside.

The sorrow.

It’s not your brain.

Your dopamine cannot explain
The pain I’ve seen etched on your face.

This world can be a broken place.

Blame the bloom that’s bruised by frost?
Curse the child for getting lost?
Demand each plant becomes a bramble?
Make children march? Not ever amble?


Not you.

Why on Earth would you want to?

One thought on “The Garden of your Mind

  1. I think I now must beg your pardon
    For laying on thick my poetical garden
    The similes were just so striking
    But if too corny for your liking
    I’ll try to find some better stories
    About the wretched born-rich tories


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