My mother is a wildflower,
she was raised by the wind.
Lonely child in the meadow,
growing up like a weed.
She got a wonderful power:
She always tells the truth,
even if it floods you like a shower,
even if it hurts you like the blues.
YOU ARE READING
delusional.
Poetry❝Dreams are our unconscious thoughts that our awake mind can't handle.❞
