Every child is born with a vase, and a plant that grows inside. Parents teach their children how to water it with pride. Some people struggle, a little more than most. They do not understand their vessel, because they were not taught by their host. How can one teach when they don't know as well? How can life be so good and such a living hell? The boy wandered the garden, Watering this and that, He went up to his vessel And fell on his face flat. When he got back up, He spilled a drop or three, But watered his fur tree. He’d do better next time, That’s simply destiny. “Water isn’t free,” his mother says to him, “I work too hard and care too much to let this happen me.” The vessel gets knocked over, His mother takes his plant. “I’ll take care of it for now since I know right now you cant.” She dumps out all the soil, Scattering it about. “I love you little boy, But only God can cure your doubt. If you want to be happy, There’s two things you must do. Praise God all mighty, and know that I love you.” I wandered the garden, Watering all that I could see. I ran up to my vessel and watered my tiny tree. She put her jug next to mine but I didn’t understand. “You have enough water, now you have to learn to share. If you don't water me how do I know you care?” I didn’t want to see her sad, I couldn’t stand to see her cry. I emptied my pail of water, but her soil still ran dry. “That’s okay, no one’s perfect, but you should try to be. Our savior is perfection and his water, infinity.” Wondering where to get more my mother walks away. “I love you little girl, you’ll be mine always.” This vessel is full of spliced life, So eclectic and divine. “This is very beautiful, I like what you have done, But if I could I would change just this one little thing.” Mother cropped her own plant and stuffed it in the girls plain. “Very nice, I love it more, it certainly adds appeal. But you’re trough is fuller than mine, And I'm missing something real.” Manicuring child’s trough she takes the buds away. She puts it in her own vase in a beautiful display. “You are smart, And pretty too, Thanks for the flowers, I love you.” The folks stopped by the garden and they looked around. The lacking vegetation hit them hard and did astound. They looked at my brother and saw his soil on the ground. They looked at my sister and did not like what they found. They ask me “Are you hurting bumblebee?” I said “I’m just fine, I love mommy and mommy loves me!” I was never abused, but stuck in my head. My sadness is my fault, So I stayed quiet instead. “Please don't go.” she whispered to me “It’s not my fault I'm this way, It’s not me its them okay? You only get one mother, So be wise when you make your choice. I am your mother, Do not raise your voice.” Her favorite way to teach, Was to make your bucket holey. If I didn’t learn fast I could never rise above it. All I know is I need to work hard to learn to love it. Welding closed the holes, Distance brings some peace. But my buckets leaking, And I just cant find release. For so many this is how the story goes Children in pain but they don't know why. Grown adults don't learn, How to be human and when to cry. Resentment, Fear, Apathy, Enabling, Is how the virus spreads. It is the unnamed symptom, The tortured voices in our heads. No one can see the bruising, You feel petty and insane. You simply no longer question the pain. But those who brave to fight it, Who struggle to not abide, Who want to be more than their past, You should hold themselves with pride.