He thought she was a beautiful flower and I was a weed,
Yes, she was a flower- a ruby red rose-
And, yes, she was ravishing to the eye, but she was deadly to the touch.
What he failed to realize was that I was flower too; one beautiful in her own way.
Of course it wasn't in the apparent way like her, for I was not a rose.
And I shriveled in her shadows,
As she took all the nutrients, all his sunlight attention.
But he couldn't see that.
He didn't understand when he was captivated looking at her petals,
that he stabbed his hand grabbing the thorns surrounding her,
And every time he'd bleed he'd look down and blamed me for his pain.
He was so blinded by love that he couldn't see me as anything other than something killing his magnificent rose;
See me as anything other than something killing him.
In reality she was killing me,
He thought I was sucking the life out of his rose and causing her to hurt him,
So he did the only thing he was taught to do:
He dug up his problems,
He got rid of his "weed",
He killed me trying to "save" her,
And he was left with what he thought he wanted.
-I could've been anything he wanted, full of potential and opportunity; a wasted wish.
YOU ARE READING
Poems
Poetry"I know that sometimes for people, I feel like too much; But let me kiss away the phantom pain that the scars remind you of, Let me kiss the burns on your hands, From when you touched the burning fire within my soul. Let me show you that yes, I am...
