Our flowers once flourished—

How did petals fall down?,

Tell me why I feel famished,

Why I feel like a clown.

You make my sight bitter,

Cast my eyes to the ground,

Masochistic pleasure

Must be cutting my thorns down.

You make me miss your clouds and rain

Covering the grass in my soul,

A sick sense of pleasure I get,

Questioning if you keep me whole.

Spew my hopes onto dandelions,

And the specks...

the flower in the windowsill had flourished

unfolded petals whispered beauty within ones gaze

inviting each passerby into its flesh

telling tales of supieriority, worth and success

slowly pulling one in its trap

closer and closer

deeper and deeper

harder and harder

capturing one in lullabies of euphoria

because the flower, first noticed

discovered and used innocently

is a drug of silent exhilarati...

Rotting flowers can still smell sweet

An empty girl can still seem so full of life

You can follow the smell of that flower

Only to find the flowers are dead

You can talk to that girl but not see how she lies crying awake in bed

No one wants rotting flowers even if they do smell so sweet

So the empty girl

pretends she’s complete...

I don’t want to die

Not because I want to live

But because I know

How much easier it would be to follow me

For those I know are already struggling

But some nights I wonder

Would they even notice

If one day I wasn’t there

Would they cry?

Would anything change at all?

But even if I wasn’t there still invisible

I can’t take the chance

That one might follow me

That I would hurt som...

Rotting flowers still smell sweet

Broken glass still sparkles

Snapped branches are still strong

Trampled hearts are still tender

And healed scars are still scars...

Faded blooms wilting.

Scent echos. Life passes by.

Memory lingers....

Many would call me rotten,

A broken thing meant to be beautiful,

To be obedient to the standard you have set for me.

I am not what you want me to be

I am a wilted flower in a world of roses

I am destined to be poisoned

I am the antithesis of what I am supposed to appear as

I am not beautiful and delicate

I am wilted, my petals to do not face the sun.

To you I am rotting

But I am not rotten...

Who am I?

Well, I don’t know

Quite how to answer that question

When I haven’t even become

Who I am supposed to be yet.

Who am I?

I am the person in the back

You know nothing about.

That kid who likes to keep to themself

Because no body wanted

To get to know this me

For the longest time

So I learned how to be shy.

Who am I?

I am the person you don’t know

Has super powers.

I can see the finest of...

The seed planted in darkness. It just wait and be patient

The water will pour onto it

The sun will heat the ground it is in

It will tremble and break little tendrils out of its shell

Reaching, reaching, reaching where?

Is there a place for it to go

The earth adds more water more light encouraging it even though it cannot see

It pushes up through, through what?

Resistance

Pain

Frustration

Not know...

Rotting flowers can still smell sweet..

Most flowers are liked cause of there beauty and appearance’s

How every flower is liked cause cause of the outside not the inside

But no one pick or chooses the ones that aren’t seen as “pretty”as the others

Even if their the sweetest on the inside everyone cares about the outside.

The flowers that are smelling not as good and are turning brown ...