My hope comes from sunflowers,
Exploding yellow that raises their face to the sun
always looking up,
In the swooping thunderstorms they find-
That need to catch even the small fracture of light
Their beauty of optimism captivates me.
Until I'm looking at the mirror
A sculpted figure by the forgetting artist,
Wrapped with essence draining tubes,
Filled with vile chemo, that should be my real hope.
The hope that hollows me and my loved ones.
How pessimistic I become upon this sickening image,
YOU ARE READING
Broken and Mended, a Poetry Collection.
PoetryA collection of poems that was written through times of hardship and battling in my own mind during my high school years. Battling depression, anxiety, and trying to learn who I am. I may not feel as passionate or even like my poems now, but I thoug...
