I bloomed late. I was never the pretty girl in high school who had everyone fighting for her attention. As a kid I often ate lunches alone, and was picked last for pretty much everything. When I would come home in tears because someone had called me ugly, my parents, after the initial contradiction, always said the same thing “You’re a late bloomer. Your time will come, and their beauty will fade and they’ll have nothing left.” It was a poor consolation for yet another girl who grew up believing that no one would ever fall in love with her. Who thought that without visible hipbones she was worthless. That she would always just be a second or third choice, just there to take somebody’s place. Sometimes I still think that, but then I look around for just a moment, and it hits me.
I bloomed.
my heart bloomed when I saw his face across the room. It had been nearly two years since I had last seen him. Every wrinkle was engraved in my mind while I pictured him in my memory. He hadn’t changed a bit. He was still the same old Grandfather
kenzie
It was there, the whatever-it-was that hadn’t been there before. A year had gone by and taken something from her. Of course, ebb and flow and shit. Taken, yes, but something else given. Only the something taken was her childness, her girlishness, if you will, the part of her that was freshman, sophomore, and junior although we were both far removed from high school. The only thing left about her was senior. Seniority. I’d been a boy and she a girl when she’d left. Now that she’d returned, all I could see was the full bloom of her lips, the graceful curves of her body and the empty space between us as though we’d have to meet again as these new and altered versions of ourselves.
Lauren
With the coming of spring comes a new age; a mew phase of life, for both the world and myself.
The flowers have bloomed. Somehow I can relate to this, though I am not sure how.
When I look back at how different I am now, compared to the way I was before I came of age, I realize that I too have bloomed.
Kyle
Si olvido el inglés y me presento en español, no importará mucho: las flores ya habrán florecido.
When I was young my father told me about the flowers how they would bloom every year, then die off.
their whole existence predicated on offering up themselves for sensory approval, here we are to see the progeny eternal.
at first she was shy, not talking, looking at anyone. but as she walked around the room she occasionally looked up and smiled at people, me more than once. by the end of the night she had introduced herself to me, and danced the night away. by the end of the night, she had bloomed
claire
at first she was shy, not talking, looking at anyone. but as she walked around the room she occasionally looked up and smiled at people, me more than once. by the end of the night she had introduced herself to me, and danced the night away. by the end of the night, she had bloomed
claire
it bloomed into something different, something crude, something far more sinister than she could have imagined. It had bloomed into something she couldn’t get away from, because she longed for the sweet fragrance of it. She wanted to run, far away from the manifestation of this passion, but something inside wouldn’t allow her to go.
Bloomed in the sumer breeze. Love bloomed, and not even the most determined and achieved gardener in the world could clip it. It was that undeniable, that unshatterable, that earth-shakingly powerful. Wow, the summer brought me into a new season in ways I had not expected.
Jolisa
cactus bloomed snake white flowers, licking the air for a single day, catching the sun in vast rays of pearly flash, prickly necks, softest white bloom, four bouncing like rubbery chairlegs, reaching reaching reaching for the sun beyond the dusty slats.
The silver daffodils bloomed once a month, and if you were very good at timing, you could watch the buds slowly open by the light of the crescent – for they always seemed to enjoy a sliver of moonlight, rather than a glaring, white orb riddled with cratered eyes, watching them. When the dawn returned and dew soaked the blossoms, they closed up again, never quite withering away.
Belinda Roddie
The flowers are still not blooming, the lillies out my window. Day lillies. The spring was slow, and just now their unopened flower buds are starting to grow up, reaching for the blue of the sky in midsummer, almost a month later than they normally open their bright orange petals.
rachelzana
i was a seed
before he
he touched me
before
he throbbed in me
before i bled and
was scared
i had felt
for the first time
that i was blossomed
and
bloomed
jtc
There was a flower once that
sat in a graveyard
it wished for a nice vase in a
nice house but
noticed that all of those flowers
eventually wilted
staring out the window
and never grew to be
taller than their own headstones.
the bloomed. It was a long time since she had bloomed. She joined the ranks of the millions of bloomed, who had long since been waiting. And she had been waiting too. And now she had bloomed. She had finally bloomed.
There was only one thing on her mind. It crept in unnoticed, but wouldn’t leave without her complete attention. The idea had bloomed from a place of serendipitous pleasure, but would cause her much pain. It wasn’t so much what she would do with it, but what it would do to her.
It bloomed with the clever indignity of sunsets cascading the seascape. Wallowing in its paradoxical melancholy the petals produced whimsical predated infarction.
Bloomed goes the flower as it exploits its natural given gifts of blossoming. The petals send shadows down the shaft of its magnificent and effervescent stem.
Branden
Forget the meaning. Discard the questions. Accept the ultimate end as something necessary to move forward. It’s something other than you. And something other than me. It’s the wish for it.
Outer appearances discarded
In the wake of spring rain and summer heat
A flower blossoms out into something beautiful
Before winter takes that beauty until another year
And so it continues.
Cat
A smile bloomed across his lips, rare and unfitting of a face that seemed to show an entire life of misery on fallen features. Features that now look liberated.
bleh
Booom!
I cloud of red fire blossomed and bloomed in the sky…..
The setting sun came in orange and luminous, and bloomed across the ceiling in a kaleidoscopic explosion. Benjamin had to admire the magisterial beauty of it, and at the same time wonder how one could postulate that it was preternaturally ordained. It was but light, and nothing more.
Gregory Stark
spring blooms out of winter, light out of dark. summer out of spring, love out of friendship. fall out of summer, parents out of lovers. winter out of fall, sadness out of neglect
It was almost spring again, which meant the snow had melted into puddles of gray water, seeping into the dirt where the flowers had already begun to bloom. Outside the window, she could see the new buds peeking out and she wished that she too could bloom.
the daisies bloomed in the late spring and i walked through the garden touching each flimsy petal as i passed. it had to be the perfect one, i thought. i walked up and down the aisles of the garden, my eyes scanning the petals. and then i had found it. and as i reached down to grab the dying daisy, i began to recite the words. “he loves me, he loves me not.” and tears replaced the petals as i whispered goodbye to the last petal. “he loves me not.”
ashley
When the cathedral bell bloomed, she was overwhelmed with joy and a simple pleasure in the everyday miracles of life.
As the lotus flower seeded and bloomed at the same time, I too decided that my life will be covered by this concept of seeding and blooming at the same time. As the idea is
Debra
that things between your legs. Anybodys, any body, boy, girl, imp left lonely. The stretch, up and out of sheet sleep and coming into it all again. Feet stretching away, muscles and tendons wanting to shake loose for a moment and unfurl from being muscles and tendons and just be meat. Eyes open on the inhale breast expanding and imploding from the chain reaction, big bang, and the crunch will come too.
She was like a blossom in the night, just beginning to bloom. She was hidden behind the leaves, yet awaiting the day her blooming beauty will be noticed.
The flower bloomed in August. It wasn’t the typical time of the year for it to bloom, so all of us gathered around the little plant and wondered what was going on. Maybe, just maybe, it was as confused as all of it. Maybe, just maybe, the doubts and fears of my family had evaded the house, traveled through the mud, and intoxicated the beautiful flower, which was blooming out of time.
It was as if she had bloomed. What was once a young, shy, unsophisticated girl was now a radiant and comely woman. She walked into the room and all breathing stopped. For a split second everyone was aware of her – how she looked, how she walked. But nobody but me knew who she was.
Cory
Bloomed flowers spread across her bed as she slept. Twitching and marveling through her legs and grabbing her tights. Flowers appeared at first from under her bead and kept spreading all through her. Not even nature would let her wake up from her dreams. In her mind images kept fastforwarding, nonstop. Her thoughts were too fast to be understood, but inside her, something knew she was lost. Time went by and she was kept in that room, in the same bed, under the same bloomed flowers, trapped by her infinite dreams.
She bloomed in junior high school and my mother would say,
That’s too early. What will happen to her later on? there will be no worlds left to conquer. I didn’t quite understand that when I looked at the girl with her swirling hair and pouty mouth but as the years went by, it became evident.
Robin
Bloomed is a word of Spring. Gentle and cool. Light pink with soft touches of pale yellow. Yellowish green leaves pushing out of the soft branches.
I bloomed late. I was never the pretty girl in high school who had everyone fighting for her attention. As a kid I often ate lunches alone, and was picked last for pretty much everything. When I would come home in tears because someone had called me ugly, my parents, after the initial contradiction, always said the same thing “You’re a late bloomer. Your time will come, and their beauty will fade and they’ll have nothing left.” It was a poor consolation for yet another girl who grew up believing that no one would ever fall in love with her. Who thought that without visible hipbones she was worthless. That she would always just be a second or third choice, just there to take somebody’s place. Sometimes I still think that, but then I look around for just a moment, and it hits me.
I bloomed.
The flowers bloomed in the spring. It was a time that they enjoyed their garden, it smelt of old fashioned roses, jasmine and freshl mown gras.
muted greens met muddy brown in the secluded patch, cracked tree branches sprawled around like skeletons. the rains had still not relented.
no one every saw the tiny light of a blue, bloomed flower.
my heart bloomed when I saw his face across the room. It had been nearly two years since I had last seen him. Every wrinkle was engraved in my mind while I pictured him in my memory. He hadn’t changed a bit. He was still the same old Grandfather
It was there, the whatever-it-was that hadn’t been there before. A year had gone by and taken something from her. Of course, ebb and flow and shit. Taken, yes, but something else given. Only the something taken was her childness, her girlishness, if you will, the part of her that was freshman, sophomore, and junior although we were both far removed from high school. The only thing left about her was senior. Seniority. I’d been a boy and she a girl when she’d left. Now that she’d returned, all I could see was the full bloom of her lips, the graceful curves of her body and the empty space between us as though we’d have to meet again as these new and altered versions of ourselves.
With the coming of spring comes a new age; a mew phase of life, for both the world and myself.
The flowers have bloomed. Somehow I can relate to this, though I am not sure how.
When I look back at how different I am now, compared to the way I was before I came of age, I realize that I too have bloomed.
Si olvido el inglés y me presento en español, no importará mucho: las flores ya habrán florecido.
When I was young my father told me about the flowers how they would bloom every year, then die off.
their whole existence predicated on offering up themselves for sensory approval, here we are to see the progeny eternal.
at first she was shy, not talking, looking at anyone. but as she walked around the room she occasionally looked up and smiled at people, me more than once. by the end of the night she had introduced herself to me, and danced the night away. by the end of the night, she had bloomed
at first she was shy, not talking, looking at anyone. but as she walked around the room she occasionally looked up and smiled at people, me more than once. by the end of the night she had introduced herself to me, and danced the night away. by the end of the night, she had bloomed
it bloomed into something different, something crude, something far more sinister than she could have imagined. It had bloomed into something she couldn’t get away from, because she longed for the sweet fragrance of it. She wanted to run, far away from the manifestation of this passion, but something inside wouldn’t allow her to go.
Bloomed in the sumer breeze. Love bloomed, and not even the most determined and achieved gardener in the world could clip it. It was that undeniable, that unshatterable, that earth-shakingly powerful. Wow, the summer brought me into a new season in ways I had not expected.
cactus bloomed snake white flowers, licking the air for a single day, catching the sun in vast rays of pearly flash, prickly necks, softest white bloom, four bouncing like rubbery chairlegs, reaching reaching reaching for the sun beyond the dusty slats.
The silver daffodils bloomed once a month, and if you were very good at timing, you could watch the buds slowly open by the light of the crescent – for they always seemed to enjoy a sliver of moonlight, rather than a glaring, white orb riddled with cratered eyes, watching them. When the dawn returned and dew soaked the blossoms, they closed up again, never quite withering away.
The flowers are still not blooming, the lillies out my window. Day lillies. The spring was slow, and just now their unopened flower buds are starting to grow up, reaching for the blue of the sky in midsummer, almost a month later than they normally open their bright orange petals.
i was a seed
before he
he touched me
before
he throbbed in me
before i bled and
was scared
i had felt
for the first time
that i was blossomed
and
bloomed
There was a flower once that
sat in a graveyard
it wished for a nice vase in a
nice house but
noticed that all of those flowers
eventually wilted
staring out the window
and never grew to be
taller than their own headstones.
the bloomed. It was a long time since she had bloomed. She joined the ranks of the millions of bloomed, who had long since been waiting. And she had been waiting too. And now she had bloomed. She had finally bloomed.
I feel like I am a constantly blooming person.
There was only one thing on her mind. It crept in unnoticed, but wouldn’t leave without her complete attention. The idea had bloomed from a place of serendipitous pleasure, but would cause her much pain. It wasn’t so much what she would do with it, but what it would do to her.
It bloomed with the clever indignity of sunsets cascading the seascape. Wallowing in its paradoxical melancholy the petals produced whimsical predated infarction.
Bloomed goes the flower as it exploits its natural given gifts of blossoming. The petals send shadows down the shaft of its magnificent and effervescent stem.
Forget the meaning. Discard the questions. Accept the ultimate end as something necessary to move forward. It’s something other than you. And something other than me. It’s the wish for it.
Outer appearances discarded
In the wake of spring rain and summer heat
A flower blossoms out into something beautiful
Before winter takes that beauty until another year
And so it continues.
A smile bloomed across his lips, rare and unfitting of a face that seemed to show an entire life of misery on fallen features. Features that now look liberated.
Booom!
I cloud of red fire blossomed and bloomed in the sky…..
The setting sun came in orange and luminous, and bloomed across the ceiling in a kaleidoscopic explosion. Benjamin had to admire the magisterial beauty of it, and at the same time wonder how one could postulate that it was preternaturally ordained. It was but light, and nothing more.
spring blooms out of winter, light out of dark. summer out of spring, love out of friendship. fall out of summer, parents out of lovers. winter out of fall, sadness out of neglect
It was almost spring again, which meant the snow had melted into puddles of gray water, seeping into the dirt where the flowers had already begun to bloom. Outside the window, she could see the new buds peeking out and she wished that she too could bloom.
the daisies bloomed in the late spring and i walked through the garden touching each flimsy petal as i passed. it had to be the perfect one, i thought. i walked up and down the aisles of the garden, my eyes scanning the petals. and then i had found it. and as i reached down to grab the dying daisy, i began to recite the words. “he loves me, he loves me not.” and tears replaced the petals as i whispered goodbye to the last petal. “he loves me not.”
When the cathedral bell bloomed, she was overwhelmed with joy and a simple pleasure in the everyday miracles of life.
As the lotus flower seeded and bloomed at the same time, I too decided that my life will be covered by this concept of seeding and blooming at the same time. As the idea is
that things between your legs. Anybodys, any body, boy, girl, imp left lonely. The stretch, up and out of sheet sleep and coming into it all again. Feet stretching away, muscles and tendons wanting to shake loose for a moment and unfurl from being muscles and tendons and just be meat. Eyes open on the inhale breast expanding and imploding from the chain reaction, big bang, and the crunch will come too.
Her time had come and she unleashed.
She was like a blossom in the night, just beginning to bloom. She was hidden behind the leaves, yet awaiting the day her blooming beauty will be noticed.
The flower bloomed in August. It wasn’t the typical time of the year for it to bloom, so all of us gathered around the little plant and wondered what was going on. Maybe, just maybe, it was as confused as all of it. Maybe, just maybe, the doubts and fears of my family had evaded the house, traveled through the mud, and intoxicated the beautiful flower, which was blooming out of time.
It was as if she had bloomed. What was once a young, shy, unsophisticated girl was now a radiant and comely woman. She walked into the room and all breathing stopped. For a split second everyone was aware of her – how she looked, how she walked. But nobody but me knew who she was.
Bloomed flowers spread across her bed as she slept. Twitching and marveling through her legs and grabbing her tights. Flowers appeared at first from under her bead and kept spreading all through her. Not even nature would let her wake up from her dreams. In her mind images kept fastforwarding, nonstop. Her thoughts were too fast to be understood, but inside her, something knew she was lost. Time went by and she was kept in that room, in the same bed, under the same bloomed flowers, trapped by her infinite dreams.
She bloomed in junior high school and my mother would say,
That’s too early. What will happen to her later on? there will be no worlds left to conquer. I didn’t quite understand that when I looked at the girl with her swirling hair and pouty mouth but as the years went by, it became evident.
Bloomed is a word of Spring. Gentle and cool. Light pink with soft touches of pale yellow. Yellowish green leaves pushing out of the soft branches.