It was not ok,
For me to see,
That she was feeling,
This way.
How can I get,
Through to her,
When she won't even,
Pick off my thorns,
And see the center,
Of my flower.
YOU ARE READING
Wilted
PoetryShe couldn't see him, But she was all he could see. Raw Poetry, by: Mae Ethlyn
Him
It was not ok,
For me to see,
That she was feeling,
This way.
How can I get,
Through to her,
When she won't even,
Pick off my thorns,
And see the center,
Of my flower.
