Oh.
Oh. A bruisewort.
A bruisewort?
But what about the dandelions? The hope, healing-cultured lioness?
The unpleasant battered skin cascaded as tattoos.
What about the long-forgotten smiles on your lips? Oh.
Oh. It's there.
Was it because of the handful of daisies enveloping the refuge, fidgety touches coming from the warmth it brings?
Or,
Was it always Daisy?
It was never dandelions.
In the sea of flower haven, it's the stem, that bears the fruit, keeping it alive,
yet, the blossoms hold the price and catch your smiles.
Oh. I am the tolerated, undesirable stem.
******
Olá!
buzz buzz, is there something going auhn?
