you, a garden of hydrangeas and rhododendron bushes.
me, a nomadic soul too obsessed with being accepted in the natural slip of life.
my midnight moonlit sorrow
is eating me alive.
you, a sun-drop dandelion, too glorious to be planted near my seeds.
my tainted heart,
an obese beast lingering like a ghost that never passed to Heaven.
my inability to place value on that vessel.
you, a rose petal blowing in the wind.
me, lost little ladybug trying to find her way back home.

you wouldn’t love me anyway.