e.

her

i think daisies grow from her scalp,
embedding constant positivity into her with their roots,
her smile holds the sun,
it's too bright to look at.

her skin is made of something more fragile than porcelain,
her lips are stained red from the roses I liken them to,
she is a flower,
the most beautiful thing in every room.

but just like every flower she is wilting,
her body is too tired from this constant perfection,
her eyes glaze over,
she blocks out everything around her.

her name rolls off every tongue,
her face will always be remembered,
she's an object in they eyes of many,
a flower cut and placed in a vase for nothing more than to be admired.

***

I don't actually know where I was going with this one, I kind of just wrote itself. I guess it's kind of talking about how some girls are only admired but no one ever looks behind their beauty.

e.