I set my sketch book up on my little patio hoping to draw inspiration from the sun. Flipping through the pages, I found a simple little poem I wrote after seeing the most vibrant lemon tree in Arizona.
However, I was with my ex at the time- a rather emotionally manipulative man. He was the lemon that life gave to me; an adversity that once I overcame, would open a world of opportunity.
My poem was a way to deal with big emotions in a small, fleeting way. He would take everything, then claim it was not enough. Thus, I was reimagined in lemon form:
If I were a lemon, ripe on the tree
Would you pluck me from the branch
And make something sweet out of me?
Would you wait for me to fall
Then remove all my seeds?
Maybe you could bare to just let me be.
Sometimes I find that writing the deep, moving piece is lethargic when I am at the peak of a problem. Something short, and maybe a little corny, makes for an easy outlet.
I love looking back at journal entries and one-draft poems to see how I have grown. I was strong enough to leave. I healed. I have someone who makes me feel love and cherished. What more could I ask for?
Three years later, I am drinking lemonade- happy and free.
I Think, I Feel 
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