The Metaphor

Metaphor for my recovery

The petals fall to the ground
The smell of death is all around
The living water starts to flow
The flower begins to regrow

It opens up, almost born
Until every petal is angrily torn
It pushed them away with no care
Leaving not one to spare

It feared the praise and hope anew
From the journey in which it grew
Not so used to the best
Always settled from the rest

In the bright, shining sun
It never felt it had won
But the seasons always change
It's thoughts begin to rearrange

It's planted in a safer spot
It begins to lose the negative thought
It's safe and sound in captivity
But can it thrive in society?

The garden's diverse with old and new
Does it really know what to do?
It's learned and loved and finally lives
It wants to see what the world gives

But the roots seem shallow from this side
Truth or anxiety it can't decide
As time passes it becomes strong
It becomes the flower it was all along

A hidden tune, a joyous song
Ready or not it has to belong