I wrote a poem today (first poem) - and I wanted to share it.

I've had a rough few weeks and this morning I finally decided to write something about how I feel. Apologies if this seems self indulgent but I was proud of this and wanted to share.

P.s. I posted a rougher version of this this morning but deleted it out of shame, thank you to the very kind commenter then.

The Garden.

I was born into a garden, In 1989, A space shaped of potential, That would one day, be mine.

As a child they came to help me, They planted with such care, Campanula and salvia, Their hopes in me they shared.

So together we grew flowers, Set structure down with trees, We laid down the foundation, Of a garden that might be.

A space that we created, For others there to see, In bloom could be majestic, I never questioned was it me.

People came to visit, Sit, reflect, remark, They told me it was beautiful, A light amongst the dark.

The scents of spring unfurling, A wind caressing leaves, Flowers bathed in sunlight, Nature as she breathes.

So with the changing seasons, The child and garden grow, The lessons that they learnt there, Were bound by what we sow.

I visit other gardens, The child becomes a man, To seek more understanding, To shape by my own hand.

Observing structured planting, As if epiphany, Mistook for inspiration, Intentioned mimicry.

The years they turned around me, The trees established, rose, I laboured in the garden, With plants that I now chose.

The structure never changing, Neither garden nor my role, Never questioned the conditions, Nor the weight upon my soul.

So with grit and perseverance, From earth, and clay and stone, Grew something now familiar, A man, for others shown.

A life of satisfaction, A life of which I'm proud, A life that's tinged with sorrow, A life lived through a shroud.

One day she came to visit, I asked her if she'd stay, We built a home together, Where now our children play.

A home for friends and family, Amongst my garden's walls, Faint laughter chased by sunlight, Echoes through these halls.

So when at times it faltered, I'd clear the weeded beds, I'd wonder what I'd broken, From things I'd left unsaid.

A bench amongst the fuchsia, In dappled sunlight, shade, A place for my reflection, A price, unknowing paid.

I looked out at my garden, And a voice said, quietly, Was this built for someone else, Had it ever been for me.

Children abed in evenings, I ran my hands through soil, I felt I was discovering, After decades of my toil,

That life built accidentally, From the structures that I knew, Sometimes cannot sustain me, Though out of love it grew.

And now that I see clearly, As I stand upon a path, A question must be answered, If I'm brave enough to ask.

And trust that if by choosing, The life that I might gain, Holds more than what it costs me, And could I bear the pain.

Or whether through inaction, For ones we love the most, That I, who tend this garden, Myself, become a ghost.