I remember the noble days
When the poems I wrote were more
Than just half-disguised attempts to save myself
Too often now, I forget
To remind you that you're beautiful

You are beautiful
You are what makes life worth living

Too often now, I forget that words are meant to be
Out and spoken
And even though each stands alone in its meaning
Like the language that binds them all together,

Not one of us is alone.

I told you that writing would only perpetuate your anguish* the Night laughed as the Wind chuckled in the background.

I thought I was strong enough* the Owlet admitted.

Do you like your world of fantasy?
Where you live in twisted lies?
Your words are woven a shield of art,
behind which, you believe you'll never die.

You cry for help behind your brambles,
where thorns ***** and wolves cry.
Do you realize you tended to them yourself, dear?
You sentenced yourself to die.

I've never felt so stupid as when I forced my hand into the fire and was surprised when I got burned.

With the ivy on my house, I had to reconsider what flowers I wanted to add to my garden. I never expected to be gifted a hydrangea sapling that I planted beneath the wall of ivy. I was much more beautiful than I had originally thought, and I was pleasantly surprised to see that the hydrangeas were able to grow and flourish on their own alongside the ivy. The scent of hydrangeas became comforting to me.

Not much later, a patch of ivy crept up the side of my house, right above the garden bed nestled against the outer wall. I didn't worry about it at first, I treated it as an after thought until I noticed that it had eventually covered the whole side of my house. The thick ivy had cast a shadow over my little side garden and my black eyed susans were dying. I tended to them until my knees were bruised and my hands were matted with dirt, but I could not save them. They died. Eventually I grew used to the ivy; I grew to appreciate its unique beauty and held it in fondness, but I would never forget my beloved black eyed susans.