There is a crack in my foundation.
There has to be;
I refuse to believe that I left myself open.
Somehow a seed found its way inside me,
Wriggling through the crack,
Burying itself deep.
A seed of unrest hoping to grow.
A seed isn’t something you notice.
Small, insignificant – it’s something
You overlook. It’s masked.
Even a sprout can find a way to hide,
Lost beneath the broad leaves
Of our other emotions, curled up
In the shadows. A vine is harder to miss.
Protruding from the undergrowth,
Wrapping itself around the emotions
That once sheltered it,
Choking them.
A vine is a predator. It feeds on
Others, enveloping them,
Embracing them with gentle,
Poisonous tendrils. Then they’re gone,
Reduced to withered stalks,
Decaying leaves, and hope
Of resurrection.
There is a crack in my foundation,
And this uninvited seed has
Grown into a terrible unhappiness.
It seems proper, though,
That new paths are often found
By chopping at the thickest of vines
In the darkest of jungles.
Scribbling in Color 