Don’t pick the flowers child they’ll die*
Said my grandmother
And I listened

She promised that if I left them
Untouched
They’d grow and bloom with care

But she never told me that
People are like flowers

And when I picked you
All your petals fell

Why can't my heart
turn my insecurities into
words and phrases you'll like and relate to
so you'll give them a heart or a share and temporarily
give me a fickle reward because I'm a pointless human being
and day in day out
wish I could put my suicide into words
a literary suicide for every time
I hate my life and
wish I could go back
to being innocent before
I broke anyone
before I realized I'll have to grow up or die
before I became the
weak one
incapable of even
martyrdom.

such a sweet tinkling
to bring such ugly words
you are an animal
you are a monster
you are right
i never deserved you

Am I a hopeless romantic
Or a hopeless girl
I'm always dreaming for something more