I listen to photos,
commune with wings,
and hear trees sing
from the woods
beyond my door.
Determined to move
past negative words
spoken to break my will
I ink a path through
their chaos and rise
on the strength of
my own worth.
The burden of opinions
are not mine to nurse
or allow to mold me
into their caricature.
Nature is my resurrection,
my holy space where healing
doesn’t ask me to recite failure.
It accepts me exactly as I am.
Comments
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are not mine to nurse"
and then the closing! Yes, nature is the first church, I think. I do love my physical church, but nature feeds the soul as well. I think you embody this poem - your struggle - your overcoming of the past!