6:31 a.m.
grab me of all the flowers in the iced over garden yes I may be prickly and I may wilt but I promise the seeds I scatter grow into something marvelous and I won't be as weak as my mothering flower— it is not a generational curse, is it?
I just need to be better. Even if it isn't in my favor or even in my system. Who said DNA makes you what you are? God, science, philosophy, hope. Which of the four will be my religion?
.s
YOU ARE READING
it's 5 a.m. now
Poetrya taste of everything that has made life a little more bitter and on rare occasions; a little sweeter | just an informal way to get thoughts out, i guess
