Ego

Her ripening was like a budding blossom never able to fully bloom, afraid of what the petals may look like, stifled by insecurities. Vulnerability was suddenly raw inside of her chest, clawing, to be free. The power it could unleash would be immaculate but, she still mourned. The moments when desires took her over, ever prevalent in her daily life, were wistful and full. She craved attention, specific mostly. There was a constant itch that couldn't quite be scratched. Patience had become a matter of life, the chess game that dragged on. She would grow cross when turned away. Forever waiting for a move to be made. Both of her feet were sheepishly turned inward. Forgetting the pedals that could be floored, the mountains to be climbed, and the waters to be swam. An open heart felt powerful, sensitive and daunting. She couldn't quite allow it to fully unfurl, so here it remained. An alluring beauty, frozen before the flora could crest.