First piece ( needs some constructive criticism)

Dear Beloved gardener,

I’m sorry for have wilting,

I’m sorry for not having been good enough.

You had watered me,

had taken care of me, 

Watched out for me,

Protected me,

You built me up, 

Filled me up with happiness,

Care,

Bliss, 

And quite a strong form of affection. 

You saw so much in me, 

You built me to much more than what I could’ve been, 

You were a bigger part of me than I was myself, 

And that was the worst blunder,

overstep,

And my biggest downfall. 

Once I was no longer of adequacy,

You started a quest for a new source of happiness, 

One you’d be proud of,

One you’d be glad to call yours, 

The possession of having something great, eventually greater than I.

The moment you found it,

You started raking me up, 

Cleaning me,

Telling me to forget,

And once I fought back, 

You started cutting me, 

Cutting all the plants and flowers in me, 

Just like the way I’d cut myself, 

With no regard to my sentiment,

You cut me off. 

Once you closed the gate to the garden you once called yours, 

You put up a sign that said “free”, 

A sad cry for help, 

People went by,

I was Ignored,

But also I was acknowledged, 

They entered and ,

Immediately fled,

All they saw was wilting plants, 

Destroyed plants and branches, 

Just as destroyed as the thought of myself,

my thought of people,

as I was when I see you happier with the garden right beside me. 

I was wilting and you saw me,

You saw me slowly fade, 

You saw me change,

You saw me fall into depression due to my immediate regression,

But did you do anything?

No. 

Focusing on your new prized possession, 

Telling the other gardeners who had wished to fix me, 

That I wasn’t worth the fix, 

The cuts you left, 

Now imprint on my arms, 

And the pain, 

Oh I deserve the pain, 

And my dreams which wilt, 

Just like the way you wanted it to.

And the love for myself faded, 

Just like you from my pasture. 

In the end,

I will be down, 

I will be dirt, 

More dirt than I already was. 

Maybe then you will realize, 

How much hurt you’ve done to me, 

Maybe when I cease to exist.

Will it only be then?

Do you want to find out?