To My Younger Self

Gathered have I all the flowers
collected from the path
that was chosen for you.
Plucked are all the leaves,
barren now are the stalks.
I know my way and here I am,
but you have just started.

My protest, my screams
are feeble from over here.
I cannot help but watch you
find beauty among the thorns.
I am screaming at an unforgiving void.

If I could have, I would have
replaced every thorn prick
with the flowers I had accumulated.
I would have made myself
the first stranger you stopped
to ask for directions.
Your path may seem without direction,
but I promise abundance is yet to come.


2 thoughts on “To My Younger Self

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