MISPLACEMENT

a cloaked gardener on tv. a walking reference of poetry, history, and botany. a character, rooted between his trees. i aspire to be the same but wonder if there is a place for my sincerity in his collapsed sealed ecosystem. there must, where else does this slight traditionalist go? what do you invest in besides home and how would you decide what deserves anyways? nothing but home does. but home doesnt redeem itself, never will. conflicted between prioritising, crazy to think i bowed to and prided myself in it not too many yesterdays ago.

is it me or is it them? i dont want to resort to blame, but im more afraid of it being the truth.

a gardener belongs to soil not concrete, a cycle not fixed. he sows his seeds in the changing landscape and adapts to what they become. but does the soil i sow my seeds in raise at all? and will the garden that i loved as it grew grow to love me back?