Secret Garden

Self preservation,

I’ve found myself back in.

Survival — protecting and neglecting,

The femininity, I wish to keep on top of my sleeve.

But she’s been pushed away and hidden underneath,

A facade of masculinity.

My flowers have been bruised and scattered,

For far too long.

So, a secret garden away from this world,

Is where she rests, the one place she can belong.

But, my roses grow weary,

As I press on each day.

Head strong and determined,

And so tired, dare I say;

I wish I could live, with my flowers abundantly,

Softening my each and every day.

But, I am sad to think that won’t happen,

Until I am truly seen and safe.