#florist - Hello Poetry

She sits arranging flowers day after day, wrapping each bouquet carefully in brown paper. She helps the shy boy choose daisies for his crush, the bride create her bouquet of Baby’s Breath and white roses, the old man select tulips for his wife’s grave. And she’s waiting for the day someone buys flowers and instead of walking away, hands them to her and whispers “You look beautiful.”

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May 18

May 18, 2026 at 9:38 PM UTC

whispersofthestorm

From the Florist

She sits arranging flowers day after day, wrapping each bouquet carefully in brown paper. She helps the shy boy choose daisies for his crush, the bride create her bouquet of Baby’s Breath and white roses, the old man select tulips for his wife’s grave. And she’s waiting for the day someone buys flowers and instead of walking away, hands them to her and whispers “You look beautiful.”

17

Little doll made of sticks, his body felt as heavy as bricks. Even as he lived in the forest, he always came by a young little florist. Nobody believed his words, not even all of the blue jay birds. For the people around him his nose grew, Even though to him, all he was feeling was blue.

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Feb 19, 2021

Feb 19, 2021 at 12:44 AM UTC

ella-stefan

Pinocchio

Little doll made of sticks, his body felt as heavy as bricks. Even as he lived in the forest, he always came by a young little florist. Nobody believed his words, not even all of the blue jay birds. For the people around him his nose grew, Even though to him, all he was feeling was blue.

7

you always worked blue into your patterns— always molded the colour and feeling with darker shades, like paint splattered in a room with no windows.

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Aug 29, 2018

Aug 29, 2018 at 9:34 PM UTC

narvik_snow

room with no windows

you always worked blue into your patterns— always molded the colour and feeling with darker shades, like paint splattered in a room with no windows.

9

Be the flower that never stops blooming. Be the rose on a rainy day and be the sunflower on a summer afternoon. Be the model and make them tempted to tear you from your roots. Feel the hurt when they rip you from the ground and treat you like a doll, but know you aren’t a doll for sometimes pretty hurts. Know what it feels like when someone else appreciates your beauty. - I hope one day they take pictures of you and hang you on their wall

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Jun 28, 2018

Jun 28, 2018 at 1:37 AM UTC

LizzyC

A florist

Be the flower that never stops blooming. Be the rose on a rainy day and be the sunflower on a summer afternoon. Be the model and make them tempted to tear you from your roots. Feel the hurt when they rip you from the ground and treat you like a doll, but know you aren’t a doll for sometimes pretty hurts. Know what it feels like when someone else appreciates your beauty. - I hope one day they take pictures of you and hang you on their wall

1

My mother works as florist, she cuts and arranges flowers in order to make it pretty. Even though my mother works at home she never has time to sit down. She is always in a hurry and never has time to worry. My mother has a mentally sick family, it runs in the blood but skipped her generation and found its way to her children's brains. The sickness came as a lightning from a thunderstorm - totally expected. Yet, my mother never saw it coming because she never had time to sit down and listen to the thunder roaring, she just turn up the volume on the radio, which only played happy songs about love and flowers. Inside the house the flowers wither from all the depressed children compressing the air till there is nothing left. Everyone sits at the dinner table gasping for air while fighting for the attention of an uncaring florist. She never sees the pain in her children's eyes or how their always wear long sleeves even when the flowers are blooming outside. My mothers children never felt pretty nor good enough so they started cutting their own skin.

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Feb 10, 2017

Feb 10, 2017 at 10:26 AM UTC

Clindballe

Children who imitate their mother

My mother works as florist, she cuts and arranges flowers in order to make it pretty. Even though my mother works at home she never has time to sit down. She is always in a hurry and never has time to worry. My mother has a mentally sick family, it runs in the blood but skipped her generation and found its way to her children's brains. The sickness came as a lightning from a thunderstorm - totally expected. Yet, my mother never saw it coming because she never had time to sit down and listen to the thunder roaring, she just turn up the volume on the radio, which only played happy songs about love and flowers. Inside the house the flowers wither from all the depressed children compressing the air till there is nothing left. Everyone sits at the dinner table gasping for air while fighting for the attention of an uncaring florist. She never sees the pain in her children's eyes or how their always wear long sleeves even when the flowers are blooming outside. My mothers children never felt pretty nor good enough so they started cutting their own skin.

1