There is always this flower,
Ever so beautiful, Ever so lovely.
A flower that grows just right for my soul;
But a flower in someone else's garden.
I'd water her,
Each time I passed her by.
She grows no thorns to my skin,
Delicate to her very core.
But as she is beautiful,
Often attract other passersby.
They too would try to nurture her;
And often too she would fall for them.
How could I even save a flower;
That was never mine in the first place?
I've been away from writing for so long just simply because I was avoiding most interactions with my soul. but this flower made me want to feel. made me want to write countless thoughts about her.
He loved her whole,
He loved her fully.
All her broken pieces,
He mend her soul.
But of a different form.
He changed her;
To what he wants.
She never wanted to be prettier
Nor that she wanted to be better.
Only wished to be accepted.
For every time he gave up,
That was his cry for help.
She's not a broken toy,
Not some assignment to be fixed.
She's just her.
And there's nothing wrong
with just being
How is she supposed to feel the right to live;
When each beat of her heart felt so wrong.
— The End —