Flowers in Our Palms

 

Flowers in Our Palms

While our hands creaked in the wind on a Monday morning,

Our hearts/hands missed each other & with palms peeling with regret. The flowers in them gently withered as if to test the authenticity of us falling apart. 

We no longer fit into each other's story, our tales are twisted in the arms of trials, while we confess the guilt gnawing at our chest. 

How can we water the soil beneath us while the flowers inside our souls are fading away? 

We used to have flowers growing out of our palms, out of our fingertips, rosy & sweet-smelling ones

What we have now are flowers strangled to death by the toxin of brokenness leaving some burnt & brown aftermath taste on our tongues. 

Owoeye Taiwo Bisola (DECHOSEN1)