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Clear and sticky thread

Might he crawl
Upon your wall
At midnight covered
In specks of
Crimson red

Seen and you
Might **** it too
This dreadful pest
Ends many lives
And won’t stop till it’s fed

Many limbs
With which it climbs
With jaws sharp
And poison great
No cure, it is said

Reading this poem you may
Be likely to think and say
A frightening, deadly spider
But no! It is a caterpillar
On which you should not tread
Whilst looking far o'r
long time spreading moor
Cloaked in daisies white

There shall likely be
Bloss'ming cherry tree
Grasping at your sight

Brushing silently by
As daisies qui'tly sigh
As wind moves in flight

Long time you sought
And hard you fought
Not reaching low boughs height

Till setting down
For sun is drowned
Settled for the night

Just before you drift away
Something beckons you to stay
A calling in the night

Yellow and white flow'r
Both of no great pow'r
Standing to no great height

Forbidden by blistering sun
They Bloom when day is done
Sending petal into flight

Finally draws your eye
From boughs never nye
Form'ly insignif'gant beauty in sight

First blooms Flow'r of moon
Eve'ning Primrose thereafter soon
The second of yellow the first of white
Do not call me beautiful
I will not believe you
I've gone through too much
All those days I rue

I will not believe you
After looking in mirrors
I have come to a conclusion
That leaves many in tears

The angle I see myself
Is different than your own
Don't tell me I'm beautiful
Too much I have grown

Do not call me beautiful
I won't believe you
I've gone through too much
All those days I rue
For all the girls out there who feel like they're too ugly to live. You ARE beautiful. Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise.
The walls around my mind
Are Japanese screens
With intricate designs
Of memory
Printed on them
Easy to break
But easy to repair

The walls around my heart
Are made of obsidian
They protect a delicate city
Untouched, as of yet, by human hands
Hard to break
When they do
How much damage will be done?
A little brown bird
Could have the most lovely voice
See it and listen
Sleek is a sparrow
Lithe and narrow
Beautiful in its own tiny way
How very lovely
Is the nightingale's singing
Yet swans have no voice
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