I draw daisy's on my skin. The look in your eyes when you drove away left me with an empty body, an empty mind. If I could some how make my skin prettier maybe you'd turn around. Do you remeber the day you showed up late? I do. You wore a bright blue jacket and a white dirt stained t-shirt with your hands behind your back giving me that shit eating grin. Oh how I loved it. You pulled a bouquet of daisy's and said they reminded you of me. You knew how much I loved flowers and each one of their meanings, and when I told you about the purity and Innocence they hold, you said "I just had to pick them." But when I told you the truth, the flowers started to die. Then every slammed door, each cry and all of the vengeful silence made the petals fall off. I told you before that once the daisy's have been picked you can only slow the inevitable. That they have already been picked from the ground greedily and with great want. They wouldn't be the same again. Now you're gone. If I draw the daisy's on my skin would I be "pure" again even if I've already been picked? Would you turn around and lay me down with comfort and let me grow roots with every step I took with you?
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Bird-Like Heart
PoetryThis is about my kind of poetry. Feelings emotions, trauma, love, happiness, loss. The world is filled with all of these thing and this is how express it.
