Her name was petunia She had hair the color of twilight settling after a hurricane and irises darker than the moon Her smile was the crescent that the stars sung for her fingers as dainty as China ware on the finest plates Shy as werewolves howling for comfort and brave as the wind dusting the horizon She never did understand why her mother named her after something as petite as a flower She couldn't understand her own beauty
Daisy; nose as freckled as the beach is sandy Wrists as worn as the pages of a librarians favorite book Sundays sunny as the sunflowers she wore on her church dress inconspicuous was the boy she held hands with under the pews Hated her parents for her wretched name she murmured between kisses with the preachers son the devil himself wasn't a flower, but a **** Took her life the day he was baptized A flowers life is not the life for me, said daisy
Rose The beautiful of the most with red lies that'd set your heart to flames She'd burn down every field and ***** every finger of those who kissed her lips Ivory skin of leaves so green envious of those who weren't picked, and pitied, and deprived of their innocence and privacy Just because fate handed her the life of lust and friends of petunias and Daisy's who never made the cut