my soul counts as an invasive species —
full of passion for love, life and learning,
growing vines of experience
— as life tangles in it’s own
series for the character building

the traumas? i’ve fenestrated prior to them,
perfectly self-sliced slits and holes
voluntarily - as a way to withstand
showering storms of shame from
those who’ve claimed they came to admire
—yet all they’ve done thus far -
was chop and prop me,
assuming that the piece of me
they’ve now taken —
will simply grow for them,
without willing to source the nutrients
it takes to flourish

my roots are grounded deeper than the pit
of Poseidon’s ocean floor where
crustaceans meet and scavenge for more —
allowing them to appreciate from
the outside and never eat away or
erode my core values inside

the monstera mami will forever
vine up the concrete jungle streets
where her core memories meet
and dance through life’s leaps.

© a.Soul

__________________

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