I always pick the buttercups
That grow on my skin.
Until they grow back
And i pick them again
And again
Only for them to grow faster
And thicker
And faster
and thicker.
The days pass by
As the wind wispers
And the rivers flow
And the wild flowers grow
Like the flowers on my body.
And I find myself
yearning for the days
Where every child
was covered in buttercups
Flourishing on their skin
And they just left them there.
And it was okay.
May 20
May 20, 2026 at 8:54 AM UTC
I always pick the buttercups
That grow on my skin.
Until they grow back
And i pick them again
And again
Only for them to grow faster
And thicker
And faster
and thicker.
The days pass by
As the wind wispers
And the rivers flow
And the wild flowers grow
Like the flowers on my body.
And I find myself
yearning for the days
Where every child
was covered in buttercups
Flourishing on their skin
And they just left them there.
And it was okay.
As you grow older the pressure to conform grows more and intense. Nobody should not be ashamed of their inner child.