I ain't no butterfly,
I can't fly.
I've no wings or
beautiful things.
I ain't any nightingale,
I just can't sing.
But I can scream,
even through the spring.
I ain't any flower,
which blooms and smiles,
but I can be
gloomy for many miles.
I ain't so pretty
or you say perfect,
but I sure bleed
whenever I cut.
I'm just me
who cries to sleep,
living in hopes
and everyday dreams.
-This was quite random poem-
