flower despite yourself .

As I grow older,

I must say:

the truths about humanity —

they’ve made my hope run colder.

What do you do

when black and white is a room made of stone?

Either/or.

Win or lose.

And grey is an undefined fog —

all you can see is what’s on your nose.

You don’t stand for much,

and so you fall.

The expectation

is that you kill the sunshine,

so you meet stone with stone.

To be propped up and in line

is control —

so with the wind, you blow.

Trust is currency,

lethal if given freely.

To fight for your warmth,

to colour those around you

in the warm colours of autumn,

is in itself a lonesome cold war.

The middle ground,

although it exists,

is the worst secret —

best kept.

To, despite it all,

be a drenched pavement

cracked open

by the brightest of nature’s creation;

to allow flowers to grow

in the saddest parts of your soul —

and to have the courage

to pry your heart open,

to see the same

in others too.