They say I am a child of the soil,
from the soil I was birthed,
I toil till my death,
digging my grave on this earth,
I feel soiled with this dirt
no matter how many times I wash,
rinse and repeat.
From the dirt I was born,
this dirt I call home,
is where we all come from.
When I dig my roots in this dirt,
they tell me to stop playing in the mud,
I made my bed in this earth,
and the world buried me with this dirt.
If my ancestors were of this soil,
then I am soiled with this soil,
and to this soil I will return,
till and toil on this soil,
until its my turn,
to bloom where I am planted,
in this soil I call home.
Becoming The Muse 
“blooming where I am planted”
I love this line. Means several different things to me
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It’s a very layered tangled of words 🎊🎉like am onion 🤔🤣
Thank you
~B
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What a wonderful poem, moving way deep down into the soul with every word! Keep writing ✅
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Lovely poem.
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Thank you
~B
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I can see you are deeply grounded.
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🥂to Blooming where you’re planted soon
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To planting your own garden 🥂
~B
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This depends
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It always does 🤣
~B
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