Maybe I'll grow into little flowers. A daisy, or a tulip, but not a rose-- never a rose. Never one of those
Maybe you'll still love me, or you'll love someone else
I don't know-- we'll see how it goes
Maybe I'll cry for a while to remind myself I CAN FEEL
I'll cry so I can let the fluorescent toxins inside of me, and the rumbling pastel colored sea that froths in my lungs all spill out
Maybe then you'll see the mess I really am
You'll notice the bright-color-stains I left on your bed, and on your couch, and on your floor
Maybe then you'll understand that I am so contradictory all the time that my internal insides are made of mixed and matched patterned patches that do not-- will not, come together
Maybe you'll realize how anxious I can become, and how my anger is silent
It will just keep ringing in your ears
And maybe you'll want to kiss my skin all over
Kiss my shoulders
Kiss my knuckles
Kiss my face that you'll never be able to erase
And don't think you'll be able to wipe my pale goddess skin from your memory
Just like you can't wipe my wild curly red hair, my full pink lips, and the outline of my ribs
Maybe I'll be different than you remember
Maybe you'll be different than I remember
Maybe I'll grow into little flowers-- bluebells could be nice. Or a daisy, perhaps a tulip.
But never a rose... never one of those
