The Unseen GardenI am sitting on the right swing,of the park, alone,pumping up my legs,my palms grasping the strings,with a rhythmic ease,and feeling the wind,hurry through every curl on my scalp,my shoulders are resting low,as if they never been,standing up,since forever. No one to control,push more or lessen,the motion of my swing,no one to sacrifice my seat to. And if even someone asks,"No" is what I will say,caring less about the generosity,and not over thinking to death,that it was the biggest sin. The wind sings to me,that I am not beautiful,but rather, a being,on the verge of completion,trying to pick up last,few pieces,also tells me that,I am the queen of this park,with a throne as beautiful,as my heart. This space helps,fill up my lungs,renew every drop of blood,new cells born on the,wombs of the cerebrum. Written on the plaque,of the park,"Only the real you allowed!".I am sure everyone has,a park like this,swinging most of the time,because here,we receive more than we ask for.