I’m finding myself in hidden places
in foods I swore I hated
in places I swore I’ve been
perhaps in a past life
I could’ve been them all.
I think of each time I’ve grown
when I’ve nurtured myself from seed alone
tended to leaves that withered
waiting for them to grow back, stronger
I’ve been told that I overprune
that I’m quick to discard
failure as incurable
Perhaps one day I’ll learn
growth from grief
and leave the ugly parts alone.