I used to think of you as fresh cut flowers:
lilies and violets, irises and roses,
all of which your breath bestowed upon me.
۞
And of course you were rose quartz and opal,
sometimes even emerald in your ensures.
The glint in your smile radiated pheromones and
I simply fainted to pick your marigolds.
۞
Though now I realize what you kept well hidden.
The blood from the thorns which pricked me on my
way down.
Or the black onyx eyes as they cut me to size,
for I couldn't be as overgrown or ornamental as
you, you'd flick me back to the ground.
YOU ARE READING
none of the things i've said
PoetryA collection of poems from a teenager battling social anxiety, depression, and teenage angst while navigating love on the road to self discovery and maturing. It's simply good fun. Well not all the time; sometimes it's about love. And heartbreak...
