Staying up without a thought distracting memories are wrought with guilt and stained with tepid tears that come like rainfall with the fears of losing you.

I'm choosing you. Please choose me. And all my insecurities. I don't say much, it's not enough, and what I do say comes out rough with jagged edges, rips and tears, pieces torn like skin or hair, pulled and plucked and groomed and trimmed until my patience wears too thin

I'm insecure and full of doubt
I'm full of holes and flaws
And often times it feels to me
You love me without cause

But I trust you and what you say
And trust in what you do.
In every single shape and way
I know you love me too.

I'm choosing you.
You're choosing me.
Affirming our stability.
I breathe, unwind, and decompress
I grieve, I'm fine, I dress
My wounds
And heal.

I've never felt as wanted
As I have in your arms
That's not a good thing
or a bad thing
S'just the way that things are

I miss the bliss of each new kiss
Packaged neatly for me to unravel
A present for the present,
with meaning only for right now
And I still remember every one
How did you do that.

I miss the decadent depravity of your touch
the absolute erasure of self into your clutch
I miss that you made me forget who I think I am
and made me feel like who I actually am

I miss your skin brushing against mine
Our steady panting keeping time
The rhythm unique to just us two
I miss being able to be this for you.

And memory now feels like sin
I have to harden fragile skin
I cannot let your whispers in
You've asked me not to.

And though your voice echoes on repeat
I'm not at fault for memories
nurturing hands brought love to bloom
taught seeds to flourish
and nursed our wounds

We grew.
We loved.
We love.

I stole your heart with feathered touch
Fingers so gentle that every brush
was missed.

I loved too little
You felt as much.

And all it took was nimble touch
To turn fractures to fissures
And in a rush
Collapse what we had made.

And with pieces of us stuck in my skin
These memories that feel like sin
I feel lost. Picking up pieces of something we made together.
Alone.

I wish you could hold me.
And I'm sorry
for  every time that you told me
All the things you wished of me
All the things I'd never be.

Alcohol to clear the mind
Each drop a single note rewinds
Our melody in broken time
Until the clock runs thin.

And now we're wasting borrowed hours
Counting seconds not quite ours
Verses stolen with our breaths
Returning to us blank.

We struggle understanding why
It feels like we no longer tried
Recovering what once stretched time
And all that's left is guilt.

3.

Heartbreak isn't easy
When there's nobody to blame
No malice spite or jealousy
To hide beneath your shame

Just four irreverent hands
Reaching out at remnant strands
Of exactly what might have been
While trying to displace what was
So that they can at least stay near each other
Not fear each other
And the infinite possibilities in one another's arms
That sweet siren's song will do more harm than good
If either one of them should
Surrender to that impulse
And let wandering eyes do more than dream
Let irreverent hands grab those seams
And unravel the tapestry of
"What ifs"
And
"We coulds"
Never stopping for "buts" or "shoulds"
Should we really continue on like this
Dancing with the devil two steps from bliss
I'm not worried about what we'll do
I'm worried about how I'll think of you
And my two left feet

To complete this metaphor
I'm worried that if you want more
And can dance the devil's crooked tune
Swinging partners under moonlight
Keeping rhythm and hope in time
One in heart and one in mind
That I simply can't keep up

While I'm suspended in that dip
Supported by your fingertips
What if your partner takes your hand
And never lets it go again

Heartbreak isn't easy
When there's nobody to blame
So forgive me if I choose not to dance
This dangerous refrain

2.

Let me get these words in ink
So that maybe I won't think
of them any longer. My mind can wander
no more preponderance on you
you see
memory is fleeting
and mine flows swift
but words don't stop repeating
so long as you keep reading
them

Keep reading them
and kneading them
work them over like paltry dough
sculpting faces you don't know
what shape they'll take just the ones they took
work them rough and don't look
back
only forward

forwards to the future
where lightning lips don't strike like thunder
where maelstrom eyes can't pull you under
to a future where you
can simply float

a boat atop a quiet sea
where love gets lost in foam
and all that's left atop the ship
is a heart without a home

Twilight fire
Burning bright
Dancing in the winter light
Keep us warm and bring us night
And carry us to Spring

1.

My heart
Is breaking
But it can be repaired

My soul
Is weeping
For all the times we shared

My mind
Is shaking
Now that we are done

But

My life
Will still
Go on

And maybe one day
When the skies aren't grey
And we've gone our ways
And the darkness fades

Maybe one day when my heart beats new
And my soul sings too,
And my mind is fine
That's when I'll meet you.

Maybe one day
Maybe one day
Maybe one day
We'll meet
Again

Swimming in memories
Four minutes old
Trying to rewind to
Find the time for all the times I told
Myself

That I would never find true love
Never thought there'd be two loves
Two sets of hands that fit like gloves

Two seperate sets with unique functionalities
Fit the hands perfectly splitting rationalities
From fears

The mind
The heart

Working in tandem
To slowly tear themselves apart

Step
One

Love is like a flower
Grow it with some watering
And try not to shower it

Two
Much

Step two

Too much love and it'll drown
With some time you'll know the why and how to
Spread that love around

Step Three

Your single bud's turned into more bouquets
And suddenly your love has grown in many subtle different ways

Step Four

Wear gloves when you go  gardening
Pray that if you ***** your hands
That you won't feel a ****** thing

Step Five

Don't be afraid to fall
Don't be afraid to lose it all
You love and live recklessly
So why would more love
Change a thing?

Stop.
Inhale.
Think.

This is it. This is the moment. You are now, and you will never be again.
Pay attention before the moment's gone.

Time is fleeting. Now feels like an eternity.
Describe it.
Is it beyond words? Use colors. Can't see it? Taste it.
Write the words into the world with your movements. Actions speak louder than words, right?
Write it in scribbles that make no sense to anyone who isn't you.
Write it into the grooves of your skin, trace it into your muscle memory.
Do whatever you can to turn something fleeting into something timeless.
Now taste the sea-salt goodbye.

Exhale.
Stop.

They say a picture is worth a thousand words.
Well, I don't have any good pictures of you.
And now my pen feels heavy,
and I'm trying very hard to make sure these words are written
In ink
Not blood
Because that's not the picture I want to paint.

I don't want to idolize you, to put you on some pedestal.
I don't want to diminish your value, either.
You were human.
We all are.

That's part of why this ***** so much. Mortality's a real *****.

I could wax poetic for as long as my constitution allowed and you still wouldn't be back.
That's the worst part about tragedy.
It's not that it hurts. It's not the void where someone's existence once was,
The tear in the world where there simply just isn't anymore.
It's not the heartache, the pained cries or
The river of tears so wide we can't just
Build a bridge and get over it.

It's that we have to.
It's that life goes on.

I always tell people to live in the moment instead of taking pictures, because memories last longer, and here I am, trying to paint a picture of the past.
Whoever said hindsight is 20/20 was full of **** because there's no way in hell that I can put a life into words, let alone merely a thousand.
I'm sorry.
I want to know what to say right now.
I want to have the right words for all of the unanswered questions.
I want to help.
I want to heal.

Right now I can't.
Right now I'm allowing myself to hurt.
We all should.
We all grieve in different ways so please forgive my self indulgence.

But everything great I've ever done I've written down and he was a great man so ******* I'm going to indulge.

The man had the heart of a lion.
He had the heart of a lion and the mane to match it.
He was brave. He left home to pursue his passions in foreign lands, and his courage echoes in all of us.
He was bright. Not only intelligent but a genuine source of warmth for people on their coldest days. There's a fire he started in all of us and while it may seem dim right now soon enough it will rekindle and grow.
He has lit an eternal vigil in all of us.
Burn not in solitude.

He was many things. What that was varies from person to person but it is in times of great duress that we truly realize how fragile life is. And how important it is to hold those you love close. To live life smiling and without regret. To forgive and let live, and above all else, to make each moment count.

To the un-daunting Dante,
Requiescat in pace.
Or raise whatever hell you'd like.

Behind the veil I wear upon my face
Despite the actions I partake tonight
Knowing you has filled my heart with grace
And seeing you has filled my soul with light

Let's play with the fire that runs in our veins
Temper with feelings that we shouldn't dare
Testing the temperance of these social chains
Cast off their irons and lay ourselves bare

Fruit so forbidden a bite will expel
Serpentine glances from my concubine
With you I'm in heaven. With her, in hell.
With her I'm entangled, with you entwined.

Though each of us will surely do his best
It's your true heart on which my hopes shall rest

At the age of 18
I entered into the unknown
As many had before me
To plant the seeds I'd sow
It was a big change.
Where I'm from
Chickens
Cows
Ducks
Goats
Sheep
In layman's terms; a farm.

And here there are animals too.
They're just made of metal,
Metal and flesh,
And the flesh ones are scarier.
But this story isn't about the flesh ones,
It's about the metal ones
And the mettle of one so little.
I've been here for a year now, give or take a summer break
And I sometimes find it hard
In a city so full of sound and light
To enjoy myself. The little things.
I haven't seen the stars, for example,
Since I moved here.
Coming from country air and clear skies
That's huge.

I miss it.
I miss the smell, too, because let's be real
Cow manure and roadkill
Still smell better than this town.
But most importantly
I miss the little things.
Squirrels
Birds
Dragonflies;
I remember each summer, at our old house
Because of this little body of water in our back yard
We'd get HUNDREDS of dragonflies.
Maybe even thousands.
And I never really appreciated that until now.
So believe me when I say,
A snail
Was the most exciting thing on my walk home yesterday.

Funny enough, a sweaty teenager carrying two suits
crouching to look at a snail for
what I think was up to 15 minutes
Wasn't even slightly out of place here.

Anyways.
It wasn't just the fact that I'd seen this snail
But the fact that this snail's little trail
Had come
From the street.
Before I continue, I'd hit a wall.

There's piece of street art outside where I live that says
"do something every day to remind this city why the hell you're here."
And for the life of me,
I couldn't.

I'd try to sing,
but lose the words
I'd try to write
and lose the verse
I'd try to act
and lose the truth
I'd try to dance
and couldn't move.

And here
in this concrete jungle
A snail.

A creature so small but so incredibly strong
Carries his world on his back all day long
Can't give up his burdens until he dies
And I watched this snail with tears in my eyes
Because he'd crossed the street
Believe it or not
Against all odds
He'd slowly fought
his way across the asphalt road
full of fleshy beasts in their metal thrones
but his mettle proved greater
and at a snail's pace
he found himself crossing
and lay at my face.

I made sure no salt rolled off me to him
Because that would be an unfortunate end.
And I thought about words
And verse
and truth
I thought about how I could barely move
And I envied him.

Never did I think I'd say
That I wish to move at a snail's pace.

And if he can do it,
Why can't I?
This is what brought the truth to my eyes
The verse to my song
The words to my lips
The movement in my feet
My legs
My hips
I sprang into life
And went home to write
Because if he can do it
So can I.

It's the little things in life.
And in this labyrinth of greed and strife
Polluted by gasses and animals alike
Just remember to stop and breathe, and then
A snail might make the air clean again.

I am a firm believer of believing
No matter how you choose to do so.
So is your cup half full, or half empty?
Does it matter?
I'm not asking for an existential crisis,
merely for you to observe.
The world has you down,
You're tossing around
Sleep is no longer a goal
Seeming completely improbable
And this isn't the first,
And it isn't the worst
And it will happen again
And again, and again
And there's things that you want
Things you don't have
A screaming inside
For what you've done "bad"
And your cup is half empty.
You walk with a smile
Your steps cover miles
Lie soft in your bed
Count sheep in your head
You don't have it all
But you know you can fall
Asleep.
And your cup is half full.

And neither of you is whole.
But you're both in containers
Judging life at the equator
Of what you have
And wanting more:
Wondering forever what's in store
Fearing or hoping
Love or loathing
You don't know, and its fine
No it's not, bubbles brine
Lines begin to blur
The still begin to stir
And suddenly
Something changes.

Is it good?
Is it bad?
Why do we judge things,
Happy, sad.
Quantifying feelings, playing these games
Half full or half empty,
Pretending that the names
We give to our existence
which we do with such persistence
Make us any different
from each other.

Fifty percent is not a whole
And either way you're not as full
As you should be.
If we must insist that life's a cup
Then do your best to fill it up
With malice, tears,
Kindness, fears,
Hopes, dreams
Memories, things
In all shapes and sizes
Be they "empty" or "full"
It all gets mixed to make your soul
And just remember that when you sip your drink
Not only do the lightest liquids float
But the heaviest ones sink.

And what about me?
What do I see
To be able to preach this obscure testimony?
I see that my cup
Has yet to be filled.

Two brown eyes
Staring back at me
Eternal

Strange faces from
Strange places leaving
Strange traces of
Familiar warmth.

Familiar faces from
Familiar places leaving
Unknown feelings of
Cold.

Fingers brush
Ephemeral Bliss
Reality

Yellow bird goes tweet.
Colorless gas drowns it out
Blue tears go drip drop.

A boy trapped in a growing man's body.
Emotions uncontrollable
Environments unstable
Afraid of the past
Terrified of the future
Living only reluctantly in the now.

His history is a mess of abuse, negligence, heartbreak, and death. He forgets the first, pretends the second wasn't his fault, relives the third daily, and is so used to the fourth he just doesn't care.
Tragedy isn't tragic when it's the norm.

Misused by his father,
Mistreated by his peers,
Misunderstood by the world.

And yet, he tries.
His emotions get the best of him.
So he separates. Confronts. Analyzes.
Reinstates.

Stronger than ever, he tries again.
He no longer denies his emotions, and instead accepts them gladly.

Things are fine.

But he can feel them slipping.

So he devotes himself to his own, personal solution. He works day in, day out to understand just who he is and what he's feeling.

Acting isn't the right word, but it's the one people use.

He prefers "living."

Having done it on a daily basis for years, it only makes sense to continue to do so.

But this time, with a new goal. A new frame of mind.

He wants to be happy. happy with his past, happy with who he is, what he's done, where he's going. Just, happy.

Not that he isn't, now. Now, he's reflecting.

In his quest to trust himself, he loses the trust of others.

"You're an actor. I'm scared that I can't tell when you're being honest, or just pretending."

I'll ignore them saying that what I do on a daily basis is pretend, and just say, it still hurts.

It hurts more than everything up to that point and he begins to lose trust in himself.

The first time he hears it, doubt.
The second, fear.
The third, anger.

And as he writes and/or speaks it again, to taste the taunt on his tongue, for the eight thousand millionth time...
Vulnerability.

And this isn't his usual subject. usually he tries to change the lives of others, to write about something more than himself.

Right now, that isn't the case.

Right now, he's dropping his facade, one he'd forgotten he was wearing, and begging strangers who he can trust more than his loved ones to simply trust him.

It's hard. To try and make the world better. He's not a saint, or martyr, and he's not trying to be. He's human, and he's in more pain than he'll ever let on.

Except amidst a sea of faces and words and songs and writing and ideas he may never see again. Here, he finds comfort. Trust.
Peace.

Here he is more at home than in his mother's arms.

All he asks is for you to trust him, in kind.

He thanks you now, having finished reflecting, for doing so.

Growth.
It's why we exist.

We conquered the earth, and moved to the seas.
We conquered the seas, and moved to the skies.
We conquered the skies, first with both our bodies and minds.

And then we moved to the unknown.

Historically speaking, when we have been told "you can't,"
We have responded with an equally indignant silence,
Proving ourselves through our actions as opposed to our words.
Proving that we can.

And then we moved to the unknown.

First, came the architects of the mind.
Then, the architects of the land.
Ad nauseam.

Growth is something we, as a race, have always excelled at.

So why have we stopped?

Look at us.

"But we haven't stopped!"
Pay attention to the world around you.

We are bombarded by a barrage of bullets, blood, and banality.
On a daily basis.

Constant updates of what's wrong with the world.
Masked as calls to action.
In truth a cry for help.

Fear mongering is a commonly used term, nowadays.
Let's not even break down what's wrong with that sentence,
As you can do that yourself,
But instead direct our attention to the fact that it is, in fact, wrong
And it's destroying not only our country, but our world.
And no, I am not full of so much pride in this country that I believe we are the world.

I am full of so much fear that we can destroy it.

And we can, quite easily, at that. It's not a question, at this point.
America is the most militaristic nation in the world.

Ironically enough, this is in fact one of the things we pride ourselves in.

But we spend all of this money protecting ourselves from the wrong thing;
America is a nation at war with itself.

What do we see, on a daily basis?

Pull out your phone.

I'm serious.

Open any kind of news.
Search for the following words in the headlines:
Accident
Mistake
Pain
Loss
Blood
Tragedy
Violence
Raci­sm
Brutality
Shooting
Death.

It's not a question of whether or not you saw them. It's a question of how many you saw.

These are the kinds of topic that sell the best, with media. Research supports that this is in fact what people pay the most attention to.

No ****. I would pay attention, too.

Except that I don't. Because the news doesn't just report the story any more. They add a little pizzazz. Something extra, to make it more attention grabbing.

Nine times out of ten, this extra something is fear.

It's one thing to see an unfortunate tale of a car accident amidst the rest of your daily news.
It's another to see EIGHT PEOPLE SHOT in big, bold, all caps letters
Then to have the "professional" news people drop buzz words like
"Racism, stereotyping, Gun control," and, my favorite, "political agenda."

When all we are shown is fear, all we will learn is fear.
A country united in arms, divided against itself.

Brother against brother.
Father against son.
Politicians against the ideas they're supposed to represent,
And the Law working against it's people.

People act as if police brutality is the norm.
People believe our leaders are out to get us.
Other races aren't to be trusted.
Other religions aren't to be believed.
Other peoples aren't to be offended.
Radical ideas aren't to be conceived.

Change is an outdated word. We have stagnated, and will perpetually decline unless something is done about it.

And, well, when the nation is too scared to do anything about it?

We must grow, or die trying.

At least that way, people might notice.

Have you ever watched a candle burn?
Flicker, fade, wasting away
The wicker waxes and wanes in pain
All consuming and never full
Unsatisfied with life so dull
It grows and builds and strikes and screams
It roars and eats and tears at your seams
You want to let it out but it never quite seems
Like you can.

We live in a world today
Where people's candles melt away
They drip and drop and slowly fall
A silent plop, heard by all
But acknowledged by none
For they have their own flames to deal with.

I was reading the news the other day
And, apparently, there's this new invention
A mental confection
At some grad school somewhere
That's still in the works
From minds of the same inflection
That uses sound waves to
Extinguish
Fire.

Prototypes,
The device and young minds alike.
Relatively unheard of, at the time,
But they may one day save countless lives.

An interesting thought, that sound overcomes
That an amplifier may dampen
Sound inside our hearts
The burning flame that rips apart.
But fire consumes the air itself
And what sound do you make when you cannot breathe?
You open your mouth and you can only seethe
The fire consumes and grows in height
And try as you can with all your might
To make a sound, some drowning noise
The fire devours, ignores and toys
With you.

Our lives are filled with sound.
Why is it then that all around
People fall and fires fade
And candles wax and slowly wane
We burn alive from inside out?
Can this be stopped with just a shout?
A cry for help, a strangled plea
"Please, just listen to me!"
But our lives are filled with sound;
Fires burning, melting down-

Until we learn to hear the truth
Ignore the flames and blow the roof
Off our little hearth, and open wide
Expand our limits, let the flame inside
Perish away and finally breathe
Free from the fires that forced us to seethe-

A prototype, that's all it is.
Relatively unheard of.

A gentle reprise from the world's harsh sounds,
A melody, unheard, unseen;
Silence, it deftly and swiftly surrounds,
Transforming your thoughts to visions obscene.

****** and vile, cruel thoughts in your head
Sinister thoughts leave you begging for death.
An ominous visage fills you with dread,
You squirm and struggle, grasping for breath.

And suddenly, crash! A harsh sound awakes.
You curse and you smile, you've won this fight.
The visions are gone, the night you forsake
Cacophony bursts from your chest in full might.

Silence; a gift, or a curse in disguise?
Only you know what in your dreams lies.

I'm sure it was just water, though.
At least, when it begun.
The groans and creeks,
The tiny leaks,
Spouting, one by one.

I'm sure it was just water, though.
But water isn't just.
The pipes did bend,
Their lives at end,
Destroyed by time and rust.

I'm sure it was just water, though.
That's what I tell myself.
I slept that night,
They woke in fright,
Their city turned to shelf.

A knight left on his journey,
Three days he claimed he'd take.
He packed his gear, his blade shined queer;
He'd made a huge mistake.

A knight, left on his journey,
A day he'd been alone.
The hero's trail, a silent wail.
He wanted to be home.

A night left on his journey,
The dragon lie in wait.
As our hero neared, he slew his fear
The beast he would away.

A knight left, on his journey.
And in the fight he flailed.
He could only succeed as dragon feed.
As a hero he had failed.

A knight left on his journey,
For others to partake.
The beast was slain, 'mongst his remains
They found the knight's mistake.

A knight left on his journey
With a blunted sword.
The blade shone queer, and 'twas quite clear;
Death was his reward.

hello friend, how are you?
it feels like it's been so long
it seems only yesterday the two of us
were skipping along

are you feeling bad or good,
could you tell me please?
i heard from Mom the other day
you were dealing with disease

she said to me it's hard to explain
i asked her to anyways
she said you had something really bad
and that we may have to part ways

i told her that she was silly
that you were friends with me
and no matter what should happen
that's the way we'll always be

i heard you're in a better place
i haven't seen you in so long
three weeks passed all dressed in black.
i wrote you a little song

they made me read it  (i couldn't sing)
out loud for them today
all your friends and family
pretend you've gone away.

do you want to hear what i wrote?
do you want to hear me sing?
do you want to hear these words I've here
do you want to hear anything?

because I want to hear everything
every word you have to say
they keep on playing make-believe
you can't have gone away
----------------
I miss you friend. It's been so long.
Over the years I've grown.
It took me weeks to realize,
But I think I've always known.

Your ****** afflictions
Left with me one of the mind.
Nobody's seen you in ages,
Except for me, all the time.

I see you every moment,
Out of the corner of my eye.
I see you every single night
When I lay down to cry.

I miss you, friend. How are you?
It feels like yesterday.
I close my eyes and then surprise
We're together another day.

I wish we were, my friend so dear,
I wish we weren't apart.
But we aren't really, at least, for me
Because you're always in my heart.

I wrote a song for you today
A simple melody
a song about our childhood
the way things used to be

free of form or structure
before we did what we were told
and we didn't think before we spoke
or think of growing old

of losing touch with who we were
our gentle innocence.
Though time has taken that from me,
You've had it ever since.
----------------
You died young. I've lived old.
Many years have passed.
I see you less and less, my friend.
Though I don't think that will last.

I find my days are growing thin.
Soon, we'll play again.
I'll see you, and you'll see me,
and we'll be together, as friends

a simpler time, before old age
before a life of death
where everyone you know and love
takes their final breath.

A time that's passed, some may say.
But only for a while.
For I'll see you again some day,
And we can reconcile.

we'll skip again
and dance all day
we'll play, my friend,
the pain away

and then i'll sing the songs i wrote
for you so long ago
you'll hear me then and i'll hear you
and forward we will go

free of all our worldly pain
our strife will be absolved
in our new life we shall abstain
from ever growing old

I see you close, my time is now.
And as I do depart,
my age is shed, my body's dead
but i have a youthful heart

Here I am at home again
Alone again
Without my friends
Here I am at home again
Wishing I was out

In freshman biology
I recall learning about the
Food chain and
Natural selection.

I remember how seemingly
Unimportant
Most of the lessons were.
How we'd go home and only a
Tiny few of us would remember.

Most of us left it at the door.

But when the tiny few of us
Who were so used to taking things home
Tried to leave the pecking order at the door,

Everyone else remembered.

They remembered we were
At the bottom of that order,
The bottom of the chain.

And they wouldn't let us
Forget.

They wouldn't let us forget
That we were at the bottom,
And as they slammed us against whatever they chose,
That they were the ones
At the top.

I remember eighth grade.
Agricultural studies.
And I remember
The first time we planted a sapling.

And my teacher told us
That we were the sapling.
That middle school planted our roots
And now we would grow.

I've always wanted to ask her:
If a tree falls in a forest
Does anybody care?

Because we made plenty of sound.
The thing is, we didn't even get to be trees.
Trees are strong and durable. We?
We were but brittle branches.

Branches that got stomped on,
Crushed,
Swung around,
Smashed into things,
And at the end of the day attempted to gather all the pieces
To try again.

To go into a flock of wolves
Disguised as a harmless sheep.
We didn't like being wolves.
We weren't feral. At least, not at first.

Soon, the sticks wanted stones to break the tree's bones,
And I'm not saying it was right,
But it was how we felt!

More than anything,
We felt alone.

In a world so full of love,
We were being taught to hate.
Even still, some of us tried to leave that lesson
At the door. But a few of us?

A few of us didn't even make it that far.
We couldn't.
Under the weight of it all, we just collapsed.
This time, we made no sound.

And still, nobody cared. If they'd
Cared, it wouldn't have come as such a
Surprise
To them.

And
even
still...

Some of us got back up. And some of us still do.
The world doesn't let us grow to be trees
So we have learned to blossom.

And even though flowers may not live as long
As trees, or grow as high, as strong as trees,
Despite all of these supposed flaws, if given the choice
Right now, any one of those trees would rather
Look down at a flower
Than up at each other.

Trees may last longer, grow taller, see the sun more often.
But flowers?
Despite trees blocking out the light,
Stealing precious nutrients,
And doing everything in their power to tower over us,
With as little sunlight as possible,
Flowers are still
Beautiful.