The Parable of the Sower by Siena Milan
You told me that my honesty was poetic
And that my body…
So smooth and so soft…
Felt nearly prophetic, though
The roughness of my soul
Continued to grind against
The eroding surface of my heart
Every time your fingers pushed their way
through the greasiness of my hair
And I was reminded of your limited perspective
That though seeing, you do not see
That though hearing my cries, you do not understand my cries
Forever seeing but unable to feel beyond the surface of my thighs
You fight to push through but are trapped by
The restricted vision of your eyes
Because the knowledge of the secrets of my kingdom have not been given to you
And I tell myself only time will allow for the
Relinquishment of this truth
Because the words I speak consistently amount to so little
when all you ever see is
what you hope I will become
I am not asking you to be my sun
I am not asking you to be my earth
I am not asking for the love you continually tell me I deserve
You fail to understand that the capacity at which I
Allow myself to feel
Matches the speed at which I
Allow myself to grow
So please just lay me down like the seed that I am
Not ready to root
Not ready to latch to any stable portion of this ground
Not ready to blossom into the being that you need
Not ready to let you down