This is an old essay of mine, and let's just say the imagery becomes very imaginable. *cringe, yet proud of my development*
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Erielle Norris
Mrs. Scroggins
Pre-AP English 10
13 January 2020
Pruning The Grove
The grove was innocent. Delicate. It had no intention of its roots being uprooted from the ground. It had no knowledge of its bareness being beautiful to others. It had no recognition that the razor gliding against its flora would mean its blossoming was adieu. The thicket of vines wouldn't be the last time saw, but the temporary abandonment was immeasurably painful. The anxiety of yielding your natural borders to appeal to carnal eyes. The daggers of words patronizing leftover patches or leakage flowing from sensitive apertures. It was all very meager to you, but the simple action threw you into the melding of a woman. Were you ready for that aerial stance? You didn't know, but you had already nipped the bud.
I was just a bud when my mother had said these few words to me, "I think it's almost time you shave." They were so sudden and surprised me the tip they left her lips. I was just becoming accustomed to my features differences. I had always recognized the plumpness in my lips, the stoutness, and bolden curves of my nose, and hips. The toffee skin I adored, and cocoa eyes I was sprouted with. I didn't have to look in the mirror to know I was already a different portrait than many. The warning of me becoming bare, struck me, and I began to ask why? But when I looked at her reminiscent eyes, I suddenly longed to know what movie she was seeing behind her eyelids, before she left.
I shouldn't have listened. I hadn't thought of the translucent label hanging above me as water droplets trampled down my sculpture. The soft cotton swaddling me and embracing my natural being. The ambient tune that created a trail in my mind. The moment the pen became the sword, and softly caressed-yet encroached my vegetation, I didn't know it was over. I didn't know the power of the deed I had done. To me it was just shedding a layer, it wasn't a carving of my core. I wasn't ready to be her. I didn't need to be her. Shedding my flora was shedding the pigtails, and stickly bone structure I had as a bud. Shedding the childlike nature, and essence of deep joy within the crinkle of my laugh. I didn't want to shed my core, and become a refined Mona Lisa, just yet. Hold my head with poise, expel any uncertainty in my psyche. But now I was a beacon of mother nature. A fine stance of development through her caress, and perception. I was her. I was her future. I was her vision. Her sculpture. Her bullseye. Her creation. I was her. I was me. I was now. I had to be.
I became another rose in the garden that day. But I decided whether I'd be an artifact or the sliver of a pearl. I'm still a pearl.
A.N
***This is- I- 'm glad I've gotten better.***
YOU ARE READING
⏳ALL IN HER TIME ⌛
PoetryThis book was marveling for me to write. Filled with a series of poems and short stories. Simple songs and testing essays. Questions of inquiry, and basically any form of writing that holds value to me. Unexpectedly taking a turn to its meaning, thi...
