Charred Petals {Part II of IV}

Today’s post is written by our Brave Poet, Jazmyne Tamar Johnson…


In this moment, I am not the seeds of that which I have sown. I fear, I’ve still to reach the depths of it. The soil has yet to become paralyzed by the venom that I’ve spilled into the flowerbeds that I’ve laid within. My roots have yet to become crippled by the overwhelming weight of filth being poured on top of their extended arms. The wind has yet to harass the charred petals that have been afflicted by the tornadoes of the fiery wrath that is sin. The consistency of my highs and lows have become a cycle resemblant of a phoenix’s wings being clipped by flame. Her feathers being plucked by resurrecting fire. Her eyes being swallowed by the oranges and blues of heat’s embrace. Yet…Somehow, still, there is a hope in one’s hopelessness. There is always a life after a life’s death. Always an ash or ember remaining after the fire consumes and leaves nothing behind for wholeness. I’ve transformed from joy to sorrow to apathy. Hope has yet to be restored in this place of transition. I feel no shame for the humanity in my sadness.

I bloom. I bloom from the ashes by which I’ve been enslaved. Flames rising from the pits of my flesh and falling from the wells of my salvation. I soar. I soar to heights to which I’ve aspired since my birth and resurrection in death. I’m crippled. Shaken and bruised by my inability to choose. Riding the fence and falling off the same; my indecisiveness has killed me. Uprooted by the very sanctuary that I thought would sustain me until choice was rued by force. I’m dying. In death, I’m finding that my life had not been lived as its Giver had intended. Ungrateful by default in my refusal to express my life as an appreciation for new breath, new song, new thanksgiving. I succumbed to the wills of complacency. My free will abused by my evil desires for my vessel of potential exaltation of true glory. Hallelujah! Hallelujah for the grace that restores. The grace that sustains. The grace that chose. How can I not? How can I not rejoice in the life that I’ve been granted? My petals can’t help but to open in the light and cower in the absence thereof. My roots to deeply crave the riches of good earth. I’ve been pruned by The Gardener that designed my form. My genetic makeup, specially designed and formulated to be my own AND NO ONE ELSE’S. For I’ve been renewed and restored in the garden of love and grace to bloom effortlessly-as originally intended. My roots planted in The Garden of Life. The Resolution to my Salvation.

Jazmyne is a young artist who is learning what the true definition of bravery is through lessons of humility, patience, love, and forgiveness. She is currently studying Communications and hopes to, one day, become an influential member of the Journalism world. Her dreams and ambitions are large and, by the graces and authority of God, she hopes for her legacy to reflect selfless confidence. See more of her work on her blog The Precious, at

photo credit: <a href=””>Nathan Van Arsdale</a>

3 thoughts on “Charred Petals {Part II of IV}

  1. Your words weave a path through a thick jungle, to an open field, across mountainous terrain, onto a sandy beach, into deep waters and by a calm brook. The poetic intensity of your words, took me on a journey. That is powerful writing. Thank you for courage and talent. You are loved!

    Love this part. For I’ve been renewed and restored in the garden of love and grace to bloom effortlessly-as originally intended. My roots planted in The Garden of Life. The Resolution to my Salvation.

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