I used to believe that I was the gravel of the earth

Unmeaningful and useless

Years and fucking years of distain

And dislike for this vessel called my mind

Stomping on the gravel until its rooted into the soil 

And taints the life growing

Then questioning ¨Why, oh why, are my flowers not growing?¨

I wish I had no excuse for this but that fact I had so many reasons

Hurts me even more

It makes me angry that there are

Why can’t it be simple?

Sunlight and water will insure growth

But what if there are still pieces of gravel

Prowling around at the roots

Taunting them 

What then?

What then?

What then? 

What 

Then?