Honesty

Symbol: Honesty, Lunaria Annua

TW: healing of child neglect

transparently, honesty grows and wilters in the village we grew up in, we would pick the dried shells in the woods close by, my mom loved to present them, like dead skin, laid out in vases. 3 layers of silky membrane holding seeds, looking like they are still in good shape. Years in, honesty became a showcase of a frozen life.

My sister, my brother and I, the 3 layers of silky membrane holding seeds, transparent, vulnerable, fragile. In a vase without water; a family, moreso a potemkin village. In her eyes we've never changed, wouldnt be able to, a beautiful facade without needs, ready to perform and shine like coins. Never needing care, never growing further, an illusion of steadiness, that fits her wishes. We were a picture of a child, a still life of dried silver leaves.

The heads are off now, they could say some of us lost their mind, split paths, getting away from each other was the only way to free and plant the seeds. Membrane pushing itself off of the next, I observed us as I was cutting the stems. It doesnt hurt to cut dead ends.The silk reflecting light, as a superficial show of perseverance, preservision, pride, and maintenance.

I do not hold onto the seeds of us any longer, the dependency of each other gripping onto empty past versions, of coats, of a similiar form, a parallel, a sibling, someone to relate to, calling each other alike, knowing we turned out to be 3 different entities and moons, aware that something beyond our roots will surpass and soothe the fractures.

We've planted and birthed evolved beings out of this brittle fiber. She would never recognize any of our full bloom, since we stay the stagnant shiny,shimmery prepped shell in her curated vases. Full of no return, no sprout, filled with sweet nothings, pretty to look at,never experienced fully, never known, the bare minimum nourishment.

We don't see ourselves in what she believes to know, we see ourselves in all she never asked about, in the secrets we keep, in everything untold, we are found in the unseen, the behind the scenes, where no masks are worn, no script rehearsed, where honesty isn't just fancy decor and kept intact with low maintenance, no substance. We are found in knowing we deserve better, are allowed to demand more than being pretty to look at and neglected in the process. We taught ourselves to grow without her validation & permission as a force of belief in self resurrection.

Don't be blinded by shimmery shells, as they aren't made of substance,wrinkly, growing older, collecting dust, becoming moldy too, while the depth, the essence cannot be touched, stays immortal.

We change in support of life shining through our tenous membrane and it made me forgive her, forgive that she thought we were better diminished, to hold nothing but function, owing her life, crumbling while looking unfazed, unaffected.

Time started to question the kept bouquet of past honesty not holding any remnants of what honesty was intented to become.

True honesty as we live it now, not for praise or to please, with her not being able to deny us being meant for more, is what she learned to no longer resist. Moon-bound more than bound to her will of cratered theater, fruitful despite aching roots and in remembrance of storms crushing silky thin skin, for the seed to find its soil.