the bloom,

from the pessimist's flower.
it's growing.

i swear there are roots
shaping out negativity somewhere deep in my soul,
down in my soles.
etched in the wood carvings
that make the hollow knocking on my chest.

i swear you're the birds,
flying out of my branches, and pulling my lone leaves
up to the sky through my skull.
as rooted as i am in those underground caves,
you are pulling me up,
and making me soar.