Roots

Dirty, gnarled things

somehow sustain me

What’s underground 

Is a dutiful dichotomy

To the pink petals

Of my spring

But each winter,

My roots remember

The seed of my soul

Germinated in void

So I know darkness 

is only a womb for growth

The obscure tendrils

keep me grounded

In wind and storm

It is the ugly tangly things

That feed me after all

My soul yearns

for depth in the soil 

of this earthly experience.

xoxo, L

​

a photo series with Yung