A flower curses the sun
even as she drinks in the morning.
The sun is a friend who loves attention, craving the reflection of his own glow!!
But the morning pour is heavy!,
She bows her head until it touches the dirt.
The water meets the heat and rises as steam,
Choking the very life—
that was meant to be suppressed.
The sun felt something new,
a safety he hadn't known before,
But beneath she was weeping,
her petals holding a weight the sun can't see.
She is tired!!, not of the day,
But of the efforts to be seen
When she was in need of a shadow.
He gathered his rays and stepped behind the clouds;
The kind of shade he was never used to giving.
He looked back once and smiled:),
He left her to the shade she needs....
Feb 17
Feb 17, 2026 at 12:16 PM UTC
You know I love you; you know I have your back.
Once, you said you were lost in a doomed world—
Heaven only knows where you wander now.
Are you still desolated in that darkness?
I was bewildered when I looked into your eyes,
but now, I am the one forlorn, buried where I cannot breathe.
When the storm clouds stole my dreams,
I drowned in the deep, and now I am alone.
.......
Feb 15
Feb 15, 2026 at 12:19 PM UTC
I am a city of two different weathers:
a hidden smile with a rocking heart.
Am I the only one with a secret?
Am I the only one with a quiet face and a restless pulse?
Am I the only one—or am I the only one with the courage to face it?
The heart is swaying like a rusted swing,
and the porcelain smile is a mask that never will chip.
But porcelain doesn’t bend—it only breaks,
and the swing is gaining weight with every breath I take.
One is a monument, the other is a storm.
I am a masterpiece of holding it together.
Feb 15
Feb 15, 2026 at 8:41 AM UTC
Everyone searches for love, but never for self.
In the cemetery of her dreams,
she barely recognizes the tombstone of her smiling days.
She thought she was planting a dream,
but she buried her spirit instead.
Now her dreams are ghosts, haunting the dirt.
She chained those restless spirits to a rusted anchor: ‘Someday.’
She buried the anchor deeper to hide the haunt,
not realizing she had turned her dreams into an Immortelle—
a spirit that never blooms, yet never dies.
She buried her failures away from the light,
but in the dark, she only made them eternal.
When normal dreams wither and blame the sun,
hers became a tombstone flower.
she carries a spirit that refuses to rot;
perfectly new, as she grows old.
She wanders a cemetery of her own making,
staring at those smiling days as if they were porcelain dolls—
unrecognizable beneath the weight of self-blame.
Feb 15
Feb 15, 2026 at 5:41 AM UTC