sometimes, growingis more painfulthan the hurtthat got you there.growing is clawsscratching at your skinand chipping awayat your bones.growing is spitting outyour lover’s namelike it was a bitter plumwith a seed too bigto even thinkabout swallowing.sometimes growingis cutting awayyour favorite parts,and mowing downthat tall grassthat so many menhave tried to peek through.sometimes growingdoesn’t feel like growing.it feels like breaking,and you look in the mirrorand see more jagged bottlethan woman.but you know thatall this breakingand shatteringgot to mean somethingone of these days.so you keep at it.you pluck the wordsfrom your tongue,cut the roses untilyour blood tasteslike honey from all the thorns,and trim the weeds away—least they strangle youin your sleep andyou lose all that good dirtyou’ve been putting down.(image by Oscar Obians via unsplash)