Poetry: Where Roses Grow by Zainab F. Raza

 Genre: Relationship, Love, Hope

 
The buzzing fluorescents flick on, and my door is locked.
I do feel less vulnerable, and it’s mostly because I’m alone,
I’m not with ones that are on the other side of this door,
mostly because I need to see something, and
bathroom’s are best for doing so. If that makes any sense.
Not sure how to feel about myself anymore,
but if time is capacious just for me, I’ll find that nudging
epiphany of emotional remark somewhere amongst the
convolutedly, personal judgments streaked on mirrors.
My heart is arid like a transient desert, but often when
the concreted dirt cracks, it cracks with light peering
out as liquid to fecundate these thoughts. And these thoughts
are like little children of divorce, and kids of infidelity, and abuse,
but they’re in nature so pure. Quite possibly innocent too.
They’re a reflection. I’m looking at myself…