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She was a flower child, forever one with nature.
Calm and serene. She helped those who asked, often pouring from an empty cup.
Her skin was as smooth as silk with a personality to match. She was complete innocence, in the way she saw the best in everyone she touched.
But she was hurt. A flower without petals, so close to wilting. Yet she wouldn't stop.
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YOU ARE READING
~ HUMAN INTROSPECTION ~
Poetry~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~ A collection of poetry and philosophical questions made to question the relations and views we have of ourselves and others. I encourage readers to explore themselves and allow their thoughts to run unfiltered while reading. I hope...
