When I was first engulfed by this darkness,
I saw such a beauty inside of it because of one small lie.
A lie in which I was told there was a garden inside of me,
one that was going to bloom with beautiful flowers.
I was told that the colour of my eyes was to match the colour of the soil,
and that the cuts upon my skin were there to let the flowers sprout out.
I listened each and every time I was told to let the blossoming flowers out,
put down another red mark upon my fragile skin until there was no space left.
No flowers were ever blooming,
and the beauty in the darkness disappeared because no colour ever sprung.
I lost hope for the garden within my soul,
all that was inside of me was a cold winter hiding all the flowers.
— v.m
YOU ARE READING
happiness + sadness.
PoetryWe write to write to escape what it is that is hidden in the deepest crevasses of our minds, to escape from the reality that brings us down, to forget that the world is sometimes terribly cruel. We write to get the words out of our heads that we ha...
