A flower
Tall and thin
A green stem,
Petals falling lovely
To her roots.
Her beautiful
Bare feet.
Up a slender torso
To her beautiful neck
Lush lips,
Blue eyes.

I was a mere weed,
Wavering as if she was the wind.
As she whispered
And I tried to listen.

Her lips rose red,
Our words have our pallets wet
For each other yet I dread
My petals are dead,

Why is it so quiet….

Everything I’m thinking
Is becoming everything
I’m hating.

How does a weed become a flower?


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