It’s in the Metaphor—It’s the Blooming.

 

It’s in the metaphor

of my pen name – Chrissy Bloom.

It’s in the blooming

from a flower bud of a person

to whom I am now.

 

It’s in the blooming from – Christyn

the name people can’t pronounce without

hesitation of the tongue.

I guess it’s because their tongues

can feel the question that those eight letters create

the eight letters of my name, a question

that can’t be answered untruthfully, a question

that the pronunciation of acts as the answer,

a visible discernment of weather or not our interactions

shall be continued, a question

passed down to my parents

“Christ –yes/or/no?

which is ultimately passed down from my ancestors

And into the blooming into Chrissy –

the poet, the person carving & gardening

her rightful plot of land of this world,

a person who’s so scared of being misheard

Her comfort is to write it all down & to read

it all to you so that you can understand, a person

who’ll spread herself so thin

to be there for any 7 everyone, but will sit

across from nobody when she needs it most,

it’s the blooming,

it’s the blessing,

it’s the fact that the stage

is her hiding,

the pages are her home & her words

are her family.  

 

It’s in the metaphor of my pen name.

That’s where the journey of how far I’ve come

is hidden in plain sight.

It’s also in the metaphor or my pen name

where you can transcribe & translate

hints that God left behind that says

Where I’ll be going.

 

It’s the blooming,

the trusting,

the praying & childish wishing,

the doing & the actually pursuing.