Flowers bloom
Seldom in a group
Fidgeting and squirming
Till the bud falls through
It cracks and mends itself
Like it's 'Kintsugi'-ing for the truth
But doesn't realize it's shedding itself of the good
It falls into a pattern
That is hard to break
But goes on anyways
Like an addict in the bay
The flower may wither and die one day
But its legacy stays perfect
And begins the process all over again.
-Aakansha
