***
She was like a flower, she was so beautiful. But so easily broken. You could notice her beauty mostly when she was herself, letting the wind take her anywhere. She was filled with color, bright bold colors. Her soft face was like the petals. Her chapped lips were like the stigmas and the aback words were like the small bugs coming out. The wrong people stepped on her all the time. But every spring you would see her again, dancing in the wind.
( c.a.p )
***
YOU ARE READING
( c.a.p )
PoetryA better description of how you feel than how you could've explained. ( c.a.p )
