Self-Watering Garden
You made it rain until your hands were thunder-worn,but their petals only opened when you poured.A garden that never learned to weep its own deweach blossom a debt dressed as a flower.
Stop holding the sky for those who steal your stormand call it sunshine only when you drench their roots.Love was never meant to be a loan of clouds;it is a season that should fall on both your fields.
Now fold your rain back into your own dry chest.Let the drought teach you what you gave away.Someday you’ll bloom in soil that waters you in return—where love is a river, not a sacrifice you make.
G