In Honesty, My Stalks Wither by Jessica Ni Leacai

I am no flower, on a bush,
be I pulled petals you plucked.

In what good, my petals,
be they bruised and of no use?

I am no more, the avenger,
be I planted plausibly or not.

In dark nor light, should might,
be my notions assertively nurtured.

I am no rotting root, in doorways,
be my mistakes made in distraught.

In remorse nor deflection, brought here,
be my petals posited and weeping.

I am no less the rose, unforgivingly wilted,
be my grounding given in this grievance.
This poem can be found on


About jessienileacai

Irish speaker and artist. I love music, art, languages,literature, history, travel, photography, and comedy. I love Ireland, my heritage, the old ways and the beauty and people of this small island and its surrounding tiny islands
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