I will not be another rose
picked for my beauty
Then left to die.

No i will be a spectacular wildflower,
The kind you would never bring to a wedding,
Difficult to find,
impossible to forget.

Or i will set myself on fire,
And burn,
And pray to become  ash,
The kind that float
like fresh snow
So that i can join the soil,
And other wildflowers can
grow through me.
The ones no one will pick
Or put in a vase.
So that you could not display them at my funeral

It's disheartening
When apologies carry
So little weight that

They nearly get lost
Within the so incoherent
Buzz your voice now makes-

All the things you have
To say are so severely
Lacking truth, merit.

"I don't believe your
Apologies anymore."
You used to tell me.

I understand now,
The weight those words carry hit
The cement with an

Echo that screams with
A resounding statement; *"I
Don't believe yours either."