08:25 pm, Monday, 12th June
when I see flowers,
I do not pick at their petals because I feel
that there are too many of them –
I do not bruise their petals because
I feel that they are of the wrong colour.
I do not rip their petals apart for
not being the correct size –
simply, I appreciate their beauty in the way it is
without the thought of manipulation,
because I know that flowers are all beautiful although they differ.
So, I find myself thinking,
why do we do that to ourselves and each other?
YOU ARE READING
dysphoria
Poetrysilent pleas from a heart that's been tainted blue, a mind that ripples in constant turmoil and a mouth that remains shut //
