A flower of doubt grows in me,
Its petals bloom despite the darkness.
It feeds on failures,
And, oh God, I have tons.
Insecurity is its sunshine, self deprecation is its dirt.
Its thorns prick into my skin, its poison seeps through my blood.
A flower of doubt grows in me,
It feeds off of every flaw,
Stings at my imperfections,
And blooms from my rejections.
Second place in everything, failure at most.
The flower of doubt grows taller, it blooms into my throat.
It chokes me, suffocates me,
I cry out for help to anyone who will care,
But the flower of doubt
Grows...
Grows...
And grows.
I'm gasping for breath, begging for mercy,
But then I remember the darkness, the insecurities, and the failures.
And so, the flower of doubt grows taller, and taller, until it finally suffocates me once and for all.
A flower of doubt grows in me...
And I have kept it alive for so long.
YOU ARE READING
In Our Darker Hours
PuisiThese poems are dedicated the ones who never feel like they belong. For the misfits, outcasts, and those who are thrown aside. For the anger inside each person that can create a fire. A spark. This is for the unfiltered words, those words that aren'...
