The Seedling

Once it drops,

You must clean it,

Even then,

The floor leaves it

Soft to the touch,

You can feel it,

Squishy, and bleeding,

And peeling.

Then,

Once it rots,

You can't eat it,

You take the seed,

and you feed it,

Soil, and water,

And repeat,

Until it is

What you needed,

But,

What if it is

a bad seedling?

What if the temp

Drops to freezing?

What if you grow

Something new, instead,

That's better than what

You are leaving?

***This poem has never hit me harder than it does now. I wrote it when I couldn’t decide whether to stay or go. I finally did leave, and I discovered that, for me, planting a new seed was millions of times better than trying so hard to regrow what was rotten and past it’s expiration date.