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Daisy.
A little flower with white petals that sometimes turn pink.
An orange centre that withstands the constant extraction of those petals,
with the pang and echo of tiny voice shouting
          “He loves me; he loves me not!
Often mistaken for a ****.

Daisy.
A girl who winces with insecurity
every time the nearest dandelion clock is
plucked from the soiled earth around her.
She watches with wet, reddened eyes
as she is paralysed
and unable to stop the careless children blow away Time,
as if it were some sort of lark,
seed by seed.

Daisy.
A witness to the exposure of stalks and leaves alike;
a veteran of the unwanted embrace and, indeed,
the wanton thieving of petals and memories and silence and voice
combined.

She is swaying but explicitly not
bending to the wind.
She stands her ground and she has
blossomed.
Written in 2018 and published in an anthology the same year, this poem acted as some sort of prophecy for what I was to endure in the next 6 years or so. It’s really cathartic for me now, as I have just rediscovered it and can’t get over how much I can relate to it.
Àŧùl Sep 22
For you,
From my terrace garden,
I bring a bouquet.

Of daffodils,
And
Of daisies.
My HP Poem #1994
©Atul Kaushal
i caught myself digging up old friends
as if i need to see their faces again
i went away and i stayed the same
you lay there and withered away
maybe there's better meadows
to bury these bones beneath
decomposing, roots grow slowly
you could help push the daisies
camps May 2021
going outside nowadays is just a game of
who can hold their breath the longest and of
looking for reasons to pass the time in your
own backyard but the gardens i see are only for
the literary muses haunting writers into submission
and for digging up holes with plastic shovels and
for wishing that i could pick up the daisies
and place them in your hair

i was in the middle of drawing a circle when
my arm quivered and now the line shoots
way past the paper and it's currently
undulating over my desk and zooming past
a caterpillar that's contemplating whether the
process of becoming beautiful would actually
make him beautiful when he already knows
that he is beautiful

i hope the god i pray to forgives me for
making all the lines i write be about you
this poem makes me picture a certain someone
title inspired by a certain somewhere

from my new book anywhere but here
Nik Dec 2020
i never got to love him—
i never got to love the man who would cause a botanical garden to grow in my stomach.
vines to grow throughout my lungs until flowers sprouted from my lips.
the thorns grew thick and wrapped around my vocal cords.
that’s why when you left i couldn’t speak,
i couldn’t say anything to make you stay.
therefore, i picked all the flowers, softly from my lips,
as a final farewell—
a few daisies to remember me by.
i haven’t posted on here in forever. but here is another poem on my never ending pain
Mary Lupague Aug 2020
I'm like a daisy lost in a field of roses,

and I was insecure.

Because all the flowers around me were so beautiful,

that they were admired by everybody.

I wanted to blend in,

so I painted myself red.

I wanted to be beautiful like their petals,

so I twisted myself so that I could be like a rose.

I changed myself so much,

to the point where no body recognized me as a daisy anymore.

I tried to fit in so bad,

that I lost myself in the process.

So, I laid my head down,

With tears in my eyes.

And that's when I saw her,

The most beautiful sun flower I've ever seen.

Her beauty outshined the roses,

with her bright yellow petals that resembled the sun.

And when I looked around,

I saw many more beautiful flowers.

Proud that they were unique,

and accepted who they really are

And that's when I realized,

that each and one of us are beautiful in our own way.
I wanted to be somebody else my whole life, and I want to change that perspective of mine. I want to love me.
Amy Perry Jun 2020
Follow the trail of daisies
That leads to my heart,
Follow like a white rabbit,
Keep your mysticism intact,
Believe, believe, believe,
The beautiful trail you see,
Believe, believe, believe,
It leads straight in to me.
Danica Jun 2020
I am a cemetery
And all of your memories engraved
With your name, months and date
I am all that lavender and daisies
Waiting for clouds with heavy rains
As you left and ruin me like hurricanes
We are the cemetery
nim Jun 2020
poetry, poetry;
my little fairy,
i cut open my wrist
and lovely daisies blossomed!

poetry, tiny pretty ghost,
is it a good sign?
would you heal me, please?
i feel their roots in my veins...

poetry, you silly phantom,
it isn't pleasant anymore!
they're ******* my blood,
there's vultures in my bloodflow.

poetry, silver fanged wraith,
your roots are in my bones,
it's a temple crushing down.
the past is hunting me down.

poetry, my little fairy.
i'm nothing more than dust.
i love you, but i fall apart.
you brought my old demons back.

poetry, my little fairy;
i cut my wrist open,
and lovely rotten daisies bloomed!
Nicole May 2020
Sunflower and daisies
Got me all hooked
We were never supposed to happen
But then you ambushed.
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