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Invisible May 11
It's never I want to
It's always I have to
I need to
Be free

They pick me
They throw me
In a pile of dirt
A lonely daisy

Surrounded by roses
Red trickling down their thorns
I'll do what they do
I'll bleed

I'll never be a rose
I'm stuck in the ground
While they're in glass vases
Staring down at me

They're words get stronger
They're actions speak louder
My cuts get deeper
On the edge of insecurity

Soon I won't be breathing
Oh, the irony
In the middle of roses
A dead daisy
Yeah. Well... Yeah.
Erian Apr 13
"You're my sun,"
He murmured, picking up the traces of daisies
That scattered the ground,
"My moon,"
He caught the petals as they fell from the cluster,
"My stars,"
A sigh parted his lips,
Dropping the injured bouquet from his hands,
"And everything in between..."
The petals spread near him
Like diamonds flashing on the soil
Forming a cosmos around his tracks.
He lost himself for love and in return,
The galaxy lost him too.
kat victoria Apr 1
daisies push up after death
that’s all i’ve planted
since you left
Carmen Jane Mar 17
She is running barefoot
On a field of daisies
Smiling, cause he understood,
Each curve of her drawn paisleys.

She walks and walks, perhaps for miles
Until she finds the perfect spot,
She shared with bumblebees, her smiles,
He understood each line and dot.

There on that perfect spot, she lay,
And looked up at the bluest sky
With milk-white clouds that want to play
While blades of grass caress her thigh.

Looking up like that for hours,
Until she finds a cloud of paisleys
Laying there among the flowers,
She feels like she's one of the daisies.
Star BG Jan 9
Oh Daisy princess
echo the words I wish to hear,
as I rip you apart
and end your life.

Answer my question
as I whisper gratitude
for your service
before returning to Mothers soil
to bloom again.

Reply so your wisdom
will anchor to give me hope.

He loves me.
He Loves me not.
He loves me.
He loves me not
He loves me.

Thank you.
inspired by Peter J Thanks
Poetic T Jan 5
For one to write about me, would be a
          concussion of optimistic reflections.
My words conceal intentionally
                 inner reflections that even
I haven't gazed upon.

I'm a fragment of a picture wrote upon,
             but then bleached with new horizons
                                    that are neither rising or setting.  

Conclusions of my thoughts are like a hurricane in
    the confines of a daisy.
Bright but the beauty never
really placed singularly
                but chained together
in a forced marriage of convenience.

I'm neither what one would expect
or the conclusion of a vast dissection
         to collect
                evidence to my meaning and function.
I'm a verse that moves further than
                             when the words finish finitely.
Tekan Jan 5
Her daisy soul blossoms open to the smell of the fresh dawn,
her white silky petals begin to streach out in all directions as she begins her day.
Wide eyed and awake
she reveals her bright yellow center
filled with sweet pollen.

Spending her days ******* in the sun,
She allows the energy to rhythmically vibrate all around her
and as the wind tries to blow her down,
She sways in its way.
Creating soft breezes out of  howling waves.
standing tall on her delicate thin steam,
she proudly parades with the living.
Happily accepting her place on earth,
she digs her roots deep within.
Allowing nature to flow through her vains,
Infinitely creating life,
with the mere existence of her daisy soul.
My best friend
The white spirit in your perianths
excites the puerile
I lost in my duties of surviving a life
that culture desires.

I crave to exist in your petals
as a dew that warms your root
for a spell.

You're the one I relish to shelter myself
as you bloom with the fragrance of luscious chroma.
Hayley Rena Dec 2018
Daisy was almost a year ago
and I still look at the flowers
with hate

—the burning of flowers.
Written // April 11, 2018
Azurel Mata Nov 2018
He was pale as death,
running down like an over-wound clock
Beneath his eyes,
dark signs of sleeplessness tumbled short of his dreams.
The pale gold odor of his lips,
Parted with a series of beginnings.
He was confounded with wonder at her presence
That voice held him most
Swathed in rose and lavender silk
The darker, well-kept expanse of his suppressed eagerness blazed with light.
His eyes,
a deep tropical burn,
on fire like the World’s Fair
remotely possessed by intense life
like a trembling match
stained with creative passion

He searched for her night and day
The exhilarating ripple of her voice was a wild tonic rain
a deathless song
a faint flow of thunder
he followed the sound of it into the thick folds of the sky.
her well-loved eyes,
smeared with tears,
glistening drops smashed into pieces on the floor
Standing in a puddle of mid-summer flowers
Bright ecstatic smile on the edge of pouring rain
Its fluctuating, feverish warmth,
full of aching grieving beauty,
told of unexpected joy
Are you in love with me?
Found poem from The Great Gatsby
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