Pressing onward when your joy has dried up

Is like being the last of the roses to drop their petals

Or the tree that slowly releases its leaves from the canopy.

You shed as you move, flaking what is left of your smile

Leaving a thick trail of your dream’s dust behind you

That others want to sweep up but are afraid to touch.

You become a husk, your unique and beautiful parts

Crumbling when someone handles you without care

And cracking apart even if they do.

Inevitably, your strands begin to peel

Until yesterday’s blossoms surround your feet

And you wonder if there is anything left that is you.

When your joy has dried up so does your belief

That the mess you have become is your healing

And you will grow new buds from the ash.