You are not welcome here. This is a land designed from the fragile fabric of my fears and desires that I am only permitted to visit when my clouded mind hits a sullen pillow. There are many places where I don't have any control over your presence but I have to insist that this is not one of them. I demand to know who let you in.
You probably believe you have every right to be here.
That's so like you.
Always accepting the credit before doing the work. And for all to long I believed in this alluring ethic. You asked all the questions and i too quickly let the answers dance from my tongue. I should have seen that you were storing them in that place inside of you that gave you permission to label them to be your own. I provided the seeds, the holes were in our souls and together our tears watered that garden of deception.
You handed me a blindfold of promises and quickly plucked each dark flower and left me with rotting stems. When the promises finally ran out and the blindfold slipped from my naive eyes, you were already long gone, only leaving a trail of wilting petals and lies.
I am to blame. I want you to know this.
I handed you that key to every room of my being and silently witnessed you take hold of any hope that dared to attempt flight inside. That is the shame I still carry and beg to leave me be each night. I struggle with it the most in the land my dreams lay me down upon. To see that someone has allowed you to step foot on this soil is almost enough to send me back to that vulnerable state you so sweetly carved out for me.
And just when you begin to walk towards me holding out those beautiful lies something tells me to reach into my pocket. This is when I pull out a mass tangle of roots dusted in soil and am reminded of the strength I should have known was always there. They are the roots from our disheveled garden and they finally belong to me and only me.
You may have escaped with the first bloom but soon people will start to notice the increasing bruises on the veins of the petals followed by their demise. And when they request more of these flowered creations you will look to my flourishing garden only to find that the wall around it has been rebuilt.
The bricks are now held together by the strength you always feared I would discover I had within me. I will meet you at the gate of my garden and hand you a seed of thanks for being the first to successfully break me. And it is not until you have been broken that you can see each piece of yourself and learn how to abandon the fear of the cracks that may show once put back together.