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Sarah Foster Jan 8
Untouched places. I cannot keep happiness for myself. I have to share it with everyone. A pure place becomes poisoned by their footprints. Memories of them cover the ground in the form of weeds. I could try to tear them from the dirt but what is the use? I bring someone new to **** them for me but no! Their roots are tangled. How will I rip them out now? I try again. If these weeds were flowers this garden would be beautiful. My once safe place is safe no longer. The weeds, they will grow. I will lie down and disappear within them. They were good memories once. When I was young I never understood why my mother plucked them from the ground. When I was young I thought everything beautiful. My mother is still beautiful. When I was fourteen I started hurting myself. When I was fourteen I knelt next to my mother. We compared our ***** hands. Mine look more like hers with every year. Her weeds grew at home. Home was never a pure place. I let the weeds grow and when I left I set them on fire. She envied me for this. She does not know all the places I must pick the weeds from. She does not know I find safety anywhere but there. She does not know I plant the poison. She does not know I invite them there. I do not want the false image of safety. I bring the danger so it comes at no surprise. Imagine your beautiful garden, cared for for years and there! Where did it come from? No. I hate surprises. I know where my weeds grow from. Those **** footprints. But whatever. I'll find another pure place. Maybe this time only my footprints will cover the ground, flowers growing from each one.
Jaxey Jan 6
You were that person
In my story
That everyone else
Saw as the villain
The **** in the garden
Full of roses
But I saw you as a hero
Because what nobody else realized
Was that the weeds
You had planted
Were just your
Broken attempts
Of making something
You were my hero that was everybody elses villain
Elizabeth Zenk Dec 2018
Asphalt memories and concrete cries.
These cracks of life, formulate most of my thoughts during these bland journeys.
The most interest in these cobblestone pathways lies in the occasional determined dandelion or **** that manages to pop up through the stone.
The mundane life of such a plant never fails to amuse me.
Despite all the efforts, all the work, these ragged stocks of green persevere, but as soon as they thrive, they perish.
Turning into no more than a sickly brown line on the pavement below.
    The weeds aren’t what brings me down these roads, however.
My life manages to be even more interestless, and boring.
I wander back and forth this path, every single day, wearing away the cement that brings me to these stainless steel buildings.

However, I’ve reconciled with the crisp morning strolls, for the night is much less forgiving.

    Sometimes the streetlights bend, twist, wind, and twine with the tears that form in my gaze.
The streaks of sorrow that trail down my face as I leave to go home for the day.
Macabre figures dance in the background of my distorted vision, chasing me down in the dark.
I wonder whether or not this is my imprisoned imagination, lashing out at me.
Starting a war I never asked for.
The thing that is brave enough to bring me an ounce of sanity is the waxing moon,
rising up from its shadowy imprisonment.
I wish I could be the moon
Euphie Dec 2018
What began as an innocent little bush
turned into a garden that became

Weeds began to grow inside me
since you left me alone.
And I've been attempting to pluck
out them out.

What once began as pure innocence,
became stems of weeds wrapped tightly
around my ribs and lungs.

Making it hard for me to breathe,
like a seed, you planted yourself in me...
a **** I could never take out.
Rosely Medina Dec 2018
Perhaps someday you’ll come to realize that a dandelion holds just the same amount of beauty as a rose
Dani Dec 2018
Surfing black waves
Diving deep within unknown caves
Going without knowing a destination
What infatuation
Dark waters covering sight
Seaweeds tickling feet
Temping to pull under what might dare to enter their space

No skies above or light seen
Sounds muffled under deep green color
The feeling of floating and sinking combined
One single lonely feeling that almost died
Forever it lives on as the moon moves the tide
Ever-changing but never fleeting inside

Terminal depths and loved kept
Hidden are those who understand the scene
Displayed before your eyes above, although unseen
Surf the blackness of waves never failing gratification
Dive into the depths without knowing destination
Allow weeds that tickle your feet to pull you under, they tempt
Swallow the deep green waters of a bay where others are exempt
We all have that special scene for our individual loneliness. Almost peaceful, maybe a solitude, lonely, but our own space we sadly learn to recognize...
Brittany Hall Oct 2018
Second best to all of your friends,
'Cause you know I'll love you 'til the end.

I am what the others were;
A hopeless fool who's dancing in your blur.

Wrapped around your finger, I do as you say.
It feels like you just linger, but I'm asking you to stay.

Unsure if you can handle this, so you keep your options open.
I pretend I don't notice, so they don't see me choking.

Constant competition with people I've never met.
Offering you a better life in pictures on the internet.

The grass isn't greener on the other side.
But when you've got no grass, even the weeds look nice.

I used to be the wild rose, and you didn't mind my extra thorns.
But now the cold wind blows, my petals fall and I am scorned.

Everyday, I hope you still love me.
In your eyes, is there anyone above me?

Every night, you leave me guessing.
Be honest with me, relieve my stressing.
sunprincess Oct 2018
After sowing a few seeds up sprang a friend,
and then another and another
Just like pretty daisies in a flower garden,
Then along came a pesky ****
Jason Drury Oct 2018
Those words,
grow suddenly like thorn weeds.
Without warning,
they spread wide.
Reaching and choking,
reality to death.
It's a chemical reaction,
like chlorophyll to plants.

Blinded by vines,
that are fed by her light.
Thorns of memories,
dig deep until you bleed happiness.

It's perfectly overgrown,
10 years of blissful growth.
How enchanting,
to wither with you.
Sow our seeds,
and live.

We’ve suffered,
intimate drought,
periods of stunted growth,
dark days with no light.
We began to untwine,
then climb to seek a different light.

That day was our garden calamity,
You no longer fed me your light,
Or Nourished my roots.
You uprooted,
Roisin Sullivan Sep 2018
I have something growing
Inside of me.
Rooted in my belly,
Upwards flowing.

A **** conquering all,
It clogs and chokes,
Thick, broad, and strong like oaks,
While tending flaws.
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