These walls cater phony comfort
I'm not sure if it's the bitter black liquids
Or the soothing Sunday jazz?
My stomach is numb from dead weight

Five years
These seats still aren't warm

My hands are hollow
They will never graze the likeness
An innocent's tender skin has to offer

It seems I was
born with a flawed mind
and an inferior anatomy.

I was raised to be a daisy
soft and dainty
abandoned in the polar air to be
protected
by the starving dirt that
pins us to the earth.

Now I wait to be tossed fertilizer
…every once and a while.
In the meantime my innocent petals are plucked
and my stem grows grungy.

I watch horrified.
Flowers being ripped from their roots
purely out of admiration for their beauty
sacrificing the vibrant life that once painted its scales.

I am forced to grasp tightly onto soil
that will never be stable.