RSTITMIWW (1) - BLOSSOMS

I don’t know how you do it? I expect much from you, strive to see the excellence in you. I don’t know how you do it, given how much I push on top you. With how often I neglect to feed you, give you attention. I forget to nurture you. Yet you still do it. I’ve split you in half, cut you into two, yet you still manage to push it through. I’ve striked a blade across you more than once, all in hopes of getting ride of your hideous parts. As the sap dries along the stems that I’ve cut off, and edges change color, from green to yellow, from yellow to brown, You still manage to keep on going. I fill myself with regret that I sliced you ever so clean, I then worry of what to wear, what to clean, I hate the stains this sap leaves behind, but I have only myself to blame. I worry too much; days would have passed before I feed you once more. Despite the dry soil, you some how managed to grow two new leaves. I don’t know how you do it, you’ve been cut and sliced, neglected and left to rot, yet you still manage to pull through. I look to myself and wonder, how do you do it?