My eyes fixed upon the sky,
hollow melodies whispering in my ears,
I question which category is meant for me,
and she laughs and says,
"none, my dear."
YOU ARE READING
Pressed Flowers
PoetryWe are flowers under pressure, shoved into books and told to behave. These juices that flow from my petals end up onto paper, and they are presented to you. These pressed flowers are my childhood, my teenage years, and my life. They are my battle sc...
