You don't know her
She is always forgotten

In your memories but soon your lips will only describe her as nondescript

The script of her life
How did she go from being so sweet to rotten
From just nightmares to sleep walking

Sweet ole her
Innocent and pure
Now she is impaired

In the need of refinement
But she doesn't have the strength to try it

You see she is chained to the past
Barely saw her dad
He was mean
Always got the last word

Drunk and abusive
Her mom was an unbloomed tulip
Looked kind but was bitter to her daughter

They'd fight and she would cry at night
She was ashamed of and had extreme anger for mother

How can you watch as she takes hits
Instead of intervening

Police bust down the doors and drag dad to jail
To the homeless shelter we go
No money, no home
It is cold

I barely knew what was going on around me
Refuse to talk to adults because they were all so confusing
And honestly my questions only led to answers that were lies

I had fear in my eye
The things that I had seen
The smoke filled air I'd breathe

Let's not forget the bullies
That talk stuff because I was so "imperfect"

Never had the latest brands
Because mom had no bands

Let's not forget how dad was back again
All hope was drained
She had thoughts of suicide and then a boy came

Walked his way in
She spilled her ink onto his page
He left anyways

Guess her story was too boring

You don't know her
You did at a time

She is nothing but rotten
And only meant to be forgotten

If it shall be then so shall it be
For this is what is thought of me
Like an empty vase within your room
I am the flower that will never bloom

I was always more of an autumn girl, there was something so poetic about watching the leaves fall, maybe that's why I always hated spring. But then you appeared, on that hot april night. So full of leaves. You told me I was an unbloomed flower. So you water me with laughs and sweet words, in a couple of days I started blooming. And then I understood how wonderful spring was.
I now see flowers so differently and with so much respect, because it is so hard to bloom in the time we live in, we are so full of toxic people and words that stick to us like poison ivy, yet you made it look so easy for me.
you told me that I should bloom like a wildflower, no matter the place, no matter the season, no matter the circumstances, you have the ability to brighten up someone's path.

(b.c.)

Here lies a bud that could not bloom
Gift upon earth, taken too soon
A seed which was planted who grew
In my heart, lives in my memories

Was forced to depart. Such pain left
Me breathless, swallowed me whole as
I sought my way out seeking truths
Left untold. We all serve purpose

As hard as it Seems to accept
These as reasons to see pureness
Decease. This Seed which was planted
who grew in My heart has blossomed

Inside me ever changing my
Path. Lives on within me, swallowed
Me whole now joining my journey
As the missing piece to my soul.




© Karen L Hamilton, 2015

The Dutch brought art, mud and dirt of the Kathmandu heartland,
With cigarette smoke clouding the air, and pizzas in the oven.
Not overcooked, no medium rare, slight rounded, man-made

The ambiance was now of Rembrandt and Van Gogh,
Yellow with the hint of light.
Perhaps coffee, perhaps tea.
And delight in a conversation of philosophy.
Maybe you'll pay, maybe me.

The open doors swallow in the air of the monsoon,
with the enigma of ever binding books who stuck to the wall
Like wall flowers, some folded papers like petals of an unbloomed bud.
They all had smells better inhaled with tobacco smoke.

The music played, and people dance within the security of their thoughts,
The shelter for their thoughts, the flaws of their speech.
Memories,pure and bright radiated from the lamps above the bar,
Lights which come to us only in fallen stars, but wishful thinking
is dangerous.
Hence forget it like Dutch forgot the wars.

Memories are made here, where the humidity is heavy from the perfume of heavy smiles, or folded chins and forheads from a chess game.
Not hidden, no worries, around the corner.
But yet again man made.

I am the flower that didn't bloom,
The broken record, out of tune,
Oh won't you love me, please hear my plight,
Because you're the thing my mind plays at night,
A rich symphony in your right,
I give into you without a fight,
You fill my lungs with much needed air,
You can't go,
Don't even dare,
For without you, I fall apart,
And that unbloomed flower, left, with a broken heart.

From the moment I took a breathe,
I was thrown into a narrow way of life.
Unfair way of thinking.
Stunting my progression.
I had to be the perfect little Mormon girl.
"Stand up straight.
Talk like a young lady."
I couldn't express my individuallaity.
Ironically the way god made me.
The words dug in deep perpetually.
"Your eyeliner is to deep you look like a harlet.
What the hell are you wearing?"
I dressed to **** and **** meant ***.
*** made you a deformed unbloomed flower unless you were married.
I was misinformed constantly.
I didn't want to go to hell I wanted my family to support me.
I put on show for far to long trying to please everybody.
I couldn't understand why something so true and great could bring nothing but shame and misery.
I gave my everything and it was killing me.
I was drove to the fine line of insanity.
Free falling down so beautifully.
Finding myself in an erratic deranged way.
No longer following any man into the ground.
Keeping the firm heart within me.

That was then, this is now
Who was where when what was how?
Hear them take their last breath as they're shot down
I scream
Floating in the gene pool, expecting the man who can walk on water to arrive
Sell outs and everyone who has had a bad week even though it's only Monday

Whippersnappers hang their heads in shame
I am one of twelve
So expendable
We live in gluttony
Lineleaders, math teachers, bottom-feeders have no idea
Watch them fall and be forced to crawl on their bellies
We laugh
Lewandowsky-Lutz dysplasia, getting back to your roots
Progeric clock-makers, lying dead on The Yellow Brick Road
Thin-skinned Transsexuals putting bricks in their purses
We live by eight
We die from our weight
And go unbloomed
       -Tommy Johnson
Standing in a nuclear reactor somewhere in Chernobyl looking for the truth
It might be in my contaminated endoplasmic reticulum
I am a radiant
Doppler radar
Monopoly dollar

Singing in the shower, amateur hour
Projecting sour notes
Pouring out their hearts and souls, hear them
Trying

Moo-juice nectar, spilling off The Round Table
Blondes in red bracelets, Kabbalah saves them
Henry pays no tax, John Berryman's bats tell us
You are the lunatic
We are the two quarters of a half-wit
This whole thing is insane

       -Tommy Johnson

<!>

Four Irises tall & gallant, looking though
slighted worn out, a tad bedraggled
they are springtime survivor stragglers
of the Great Spring Weather Battle.

living in an open trench, battle conditions,
wind-whipped by constant strong breezes,
raked by intermittent machine gun rain,
familiar weapons of the “handover” season

loyal guardians of their pinpoint position,
remaining on duty, standing at attention,
dignified amidst the serene, nearly summer, now,
accepting quietude & gratitude of surround soundings

arrow-straight, in dress uniforms of royally purple,
four lead a cohort of unbloomed green fellows,
protecting their charge, an ancient marker of time,
rusted-green bronze sundial, symbol of continuity

these four, boon companions to human and animal,
shall persist long after I cease to dabble in this art,
they greet their admirers in full regalia, every year,
long, long may they live, die and be yet reborn!

here, in place, when we arrived four decades ago, a tiny forever,
changelings heading a processional of the summer season,
greeting all with a simple story of constance of change, of beauty,
leading our Summertime Commencement Exercises

May 26 ~ 27, 2023

When I forgive the monsters among the trees, my petals will grow dusted pink--
These days, I have become a skeleton made of thorns,
An unbloomed rosebush stark against the gentle green.
Sometimes I see sunlight beyond the thick-leaf canopy,
Splintered by branches and trunks more mighty than I may ever grow,
And I recall the sweet and far flowered days, wet with morning dew.
The monsters came in summer heat with clouds for tails and roots hard as stone--
They trod rough on my leaves and stole my roses with grinding teeth,
And left me naked among oaken giants.
Six flooded springs have passed, though every dawn breaks cold,
A suffocating haze, thick as if the sky itself fell to weigh me down,
How slowly fog burns under the rising sun.

and the bus windows fogged by human heat became a part of this child, and the wooden roof rot recliner

for summertime phone calls, and the crying neighbor woman’s sticky mascara,

and the hot asphalt became a part of him…the sideways light on the trees fifteen before dark, and the tract

            house mazes at night, and the hidden playground underground,

and the blooming jasmine over strangers’ fences…invisible barking dogs…and burnt bike wheel tracks,

            and glittered marsh gorgeous and toxic,

and cherry tree lined freeway, and the bitter fruit afterward…and the purple grateful palms…and the

            neighbor’s unbloomed roses;





and the car rides to Elsewhere, and the urban self-sufficience envy,

and the free tickets from the out of town hero…and the wild-haired directors pacing preshow

            lobbies…and the squirming audience beer-in-fist…and the blush-stained sidelit Cordelias…and

            the honest snickers clearing the building into the cold lot still and quiet,

and all the changes of city and country wherever she went.



The red couch, the red rug, the blue kitchen, the dying dog,
The star trek memorabilia, and the dusty book garage, and the overcooked rice leftover…

the weight of guilt, the thought if after all we deserve every ounce,

the streets themselves, and the midnight three block nightmare runs to safeway…and the barbeque smell from not-my-house,

and the ****** children stumbling to the bus,

the brass chimes that fell off the door, and the dead grass backyard blanket, and the overgrown fields

where your dad smokes ***, and the heat wave transposed radio, and the bird nest window mold ,

And the lawn flamingos become a part of him or her that peruses them now,

flame retardant,

american canyon: The Gateway to Somewhere Else, hallelujah, hallelujah,

Amen.

When you say that you miss her,
do you miss her intelligence, her humour?
What about her laughter, the sparkle
in her eye when you reach out to tickle
her during your date to the movies
and how she complains when you add anchovies
to your pizza? Do you miss that
or do you just miss bringing her to bed,
a willing body that reciprocate
to your constant inner needs?
Her whole being is a temple
for you to worship but you trampled
on her garden, leaving crushed
seeds of hope and scatters of unbloomed
dreams of being loved and adorned.
Guess you never felt guilty for leaving her torn.

-m.b

You're living out a death wish
And I am too
With every cigarette we smoke
Every sip of poison that runs us thru

And life plays this ruse
Where it pretends to be big
But it's all bark and no bite when we remember our future in the clouds

We're excited to live and even more
so to die
The road to awe
The greatest surprise
Wonder we might
About what's upon the other side
I feel we already know
We already see a meager slice

i theorize what we'll find
Is the rest of the whites in our eyes
That ****** mother type white hidden beneath our iris
The teacher of our pupil
Blue vines intertwined with immaculate prospects
Having never kissed oxygen

This is not a love story
This is death
This is the illusion of an end
This life is the speck of gold in a deep brown eye
Small and obnoxious
Beautiful and important

I am speaking of the gateway
To behold our unbloomed glory

Can you remember the very moment

You learned your dreams were fairy tales

That your ambition is recited

From an endless paper trail

Another year deeper

In the wake of a dream  

The story of prince charming

Echos in your father’s voice

Like he’ll bring your happy ending

Like you have some sort of choice

And like the delicate princess

Boys guard their pedestal for

They’ll tread the unbloomed flowers

Already strewn on the floor

Another year deeper

In the wake of a dream  

Before you pull the hopes

Off children’s bookshelves

Remember, in the end

They’ll just learn for themselves

So go blind from the dress

And the white picket fence

Those paper trail dreams

Will start to make sense

Another year deeper

In the wake of a dream

A Love Letter to Lost Tattered Souls

I.

Why do I so desperately desire recognition
When I know full well glory is beyond time
Even hither
Praises too early gained would
Place one above all in the midst
Of the wheel of fate
Yet
Soon or later with only room to fall
And be crushed by the
Cruel reality
Of eventual and inevitable
Tedium

Unlike a life ever on the climb
Or of a timely return to the everlasting
That will be never be subjected to
The suffocating dread
Of such a loss
Of height

As
The roaring gale would always lose to
The ever-present calm wind
Vital yet unnoticed like the breath of being

And

II.

Why do I despair when my words
Don't glitter like gold
That would make wise men
Lament in fist-raising envy
And mock the children that
Don't understand them

When I know the truth are
In words that would move children
To tears of laughter
And laughter of comfort
As per The Word
That is equally
Ridicule by men
Of ashes and dust-
That will never understand-
Or remain upon-
This world-
As something beneath them-

Like the earth that supports
All living creatures
And the humble grass for lambs
To graze

Be the needed
Not the desired
But unnecessary

And


III.

Why would I feel shame to wail in despair
Beyond my control for a word of your love
When
What is love, without patience in suffering,
What is suffering without pain?
And what is pain without complaint?
There are truth and devotion in my lament
A testament of my bearing the constant silence
Yet still singing devotedly forever
For the suffering Nevermore

Love fearlessly your overlooked
Plain imperfections
And unbloomed seeds of poetry
Burrowed in the present land of a future
Undying forest
Far outlasting the abandoned and
Overgrown gardens of timely praises
That's now lost in maintenance
And translation

As with the minute storms
And only half-day suns
You don't want to plant your love
In bricks of spotless silver and gold
Nor do you want to bury them
In scorched earth
That have never greeted a
Raindrop or the
Stars

The Past - Never Forget

1. On Rejection of History, Fallible Geniuses:

Do not seek present fault in past greatness
Condemning yesterday men with morrow crimes
The sift of time works in unfathomable wonder
Leaving only truth grains of real substance
Do not discard these foods for thoughts
For being misshapen and the occasional spots
For they were gold among ashes and dust
And the learnt, and healed is never without scars

2. On the Embellishing of Poetry

Don't dread or torment yourself if you fear
Your words aren't decorated enough
For one day only truth will remain
And truth never hides, but bares itself plain
If you dress your poetry overabundant, shimmer and gleam
It might just be overlooked, the soul underneath
And be discarded as earthly things
Obscured by the camouflage of timely beings

3. On the Timelessness of Simple Words

Gaze from below, the tomes of giant
How plainly they walk in the clouds
At most a dress or cling shimmering humbly
And never so full of jewels and gold lest they
Fall from the heavens
Bearing the weight of earthly greed








The Present - Always Remember

A Love Letter to Lost Tattered Souls

I. On the Desperate Desire for Immediate Praise

Why do I so desperately desire recognition
When I know full well glory is beyond time
Even hither
Praises too early gained would
Place one above all in the midst
Of the wheel of fate
Yet
Soon or later with only room to fall
And be crushed by the
Cruel reality
Of eventual and inevitable
Tedium

Unlike a life ever on the climb
Or of a timely return to the everlasting
That will be never be subjected to
The suffocating dread
Of such a loss
Of height

As
The roaring gale would always lose to
The ever-present calm wind
Vital yet unnoticed like the breath of being

And

II. On Envy of Brightly Garnished Words

Why do I despair when my words
Don't glitter like gold
That would make wise men
Lament in fist-raising envy
And mock the children that
Don't understand them

When I know the truth are
In words that would move children
To tears of laughter
And laughter of comfort
As per The Word
That is equally
Ridicule by men
Of ashes and dust-
That will never understand-
Or remain upon-
This world-
As something beneath them-

Like the earth that supports
All living creatures
And the humble grass for lambs
To graze

Be the needed
Not the desired
But unnecessary

And


III. On Shame of Undying Unrequited Love

Why would I feel shame to wail in despair
Beyond my control for a word of your love
When
What is love, without patience in suffering,
What is suffering without pain?
And what is pain without complaint?
There are truth and devotion in my lament
A testament of my bearing the constant silence
Yet still singing devotedly forever
For the suffering Nevermore

Conclusion:

Love fearlessly your overlooked
Plain imperfections
And unbloomed seeds of poetry
Burrowed in the present land of a future
Undying forest
Far outlasting the abandoned and
Overgrown gardens of timely praises
That's now lost in maintenance
And translation

As with the minute storms
And only half-day suns
You don't want to plant your love
In bricks of spotless silver and gold
Nor do you want to bury them
In scorched earth
That have never greeted a
Raindrop or the
Stars

drunk on each other's turpentine
from your wet kisses
       your wet body wedged between
        my wet body and the kitchen counter
        the sky's rim breaching through windows
you'll find my love between the soul and shadow
the equinox of days and night,

i love you and your secrets buried in the unbloomed flower
        keeping its petals to itself
the fragrance of rain and the aroma of earth
        i will wander amongst these fields, open
        i watched you grow
i will not love you a certain way, as i do not know how
        i will only love so close that with your hands on my
        *******, they become close like hands
   i will only love so close that your eyes will see what
        i dream of when i sleep
i will only love, because i only can love

There are little tiny fears
Stabbing like pinpricks of light
They don't really hurt but I feel them
As I stay up late tonight.

I'm afraid to be open
I think I should be closed
But the more I try to shut them out
The more I am an in unbloomed rose.

The later it gets, the worse I feel
Fears tucking in the bedsheets
The fact that I'm afraid of the dark
Is one of my lifelong feats.

Anger drives some fears away
But they inevitably return
Maybe if I banished with love
I'd actually learn.

Oh how I used to dream of greater worlds and unreachable voids.
I used to pretend to ignore you in the hallways to fulfill
my inexplicable, over-the-top fantasies of finally leaving this
awful, monochromatic town full of secrets, truths, and lies.
I knew better yet still told dozens and dozens of tales that I, myself,
wanted to hear. I thought if I said it enough, one day I would soon
believe myself and my what-ifs of curiosity and greater days.
Plants start as seeds though, and bloom and then one day just
stop growing, and existing, and leave without a story to tell
the world. I would rather die unbloomed than turn bitter and jaded
like the rest, but when all of your petals are left for the flames to
consume, nothing seems to comfort you anymore. Nothing is left
in the world, and all of the bells have stopped ringing and the choir
finished singing, and you are left in your own desolation with no hand to hold.
The typewriter has solely come to a pause and the tape remains needing to be unwound.

Precious seconds fill the void of time
For every second that goes by
One month has passed
And only eleven more
Before the end.
Do you just sit there
Waiting to be consumed,
Or do you feel life
In every second that passes?
Either way your time is limited.

Are you here?
Are you present in this moment,
Or is the passing of time something that happens to you?
What did you eat for breakfast last monday?
Do you even remember this morning?
Don’t let these precious seconds slip by,
Just because they’re not tied to precious memories.
Because the seconds with the people you love,
And the ones passed in the monotony of the day to day,
Are all the same length,
And each is an equal step forward
To the last second you get to spend.

Wilting is in our nature;
It's a part of existence
But the wilting bud left unbloomed
Leaves no greater waste
Of beautiful minds.
Sprout and let your roots
Plant deep
But let your heart show
That what you keep to yourself,
Doesn’t need to be uprooted
To be shown.
Just because the sky breathes
Winter through the clouds,
Doesn’t mean the sun
Isn’t shining behind them’
Don’t let yourself wilt
Just because the sky gives an excuse.

Existential horror.
The dread of being on a conveyor belt,
Taken somewhere you don’t know,
Your destination far away or around the corner,
With no power to slow down or stop.
Now or later,
We all reach the destination we’re bound for,
So why waste another moment,
Staring blankly down,
In attempts to deny you’re going anywhere?
Look up,
And join us as we face the end with hope.
334 more days.
334 more opportunities to live instead of simply not dying.

Like Christ I was betrayed by a kiss
The best kiss I ever wasted
The one delayed with a wish
The last I never tasted
Twas the sublime decline of the un-divine find from the mine within my mind
My new muse fused with pure white beacons of truth;
It was love.
It is love.
It will always be love.
Until the bodhisattva’s of bohemia are free to leave in peace,
Until the unbloomed seek what their enlightened prophets beseech.
When the the ****** find nirvana by practice of kinder hearted karma
Then and only then the world will know peace

I AM IN Control OF MY OWN Soul.
IT IS MY Goal TO Keep IT Whole.
ALL MY Power Will Devour Within THE Hour.
I Need A Bath OR A Shower.
Turning MY World Sour.
AN Unbloomed Flower.
I Strayed FAR Away TO A Place That Portrayed TO Betray ALL MY Days.
NOT Just Today.
****** IN A WAY.
Never Wanting TO Stay.
I DON'T Pray. Animals ARE WHO I Obey. Telepathically Their Wishes ARE Conveyed.
Games Aren'T Played.
Furry Friends ARE Holy Vessels.
TO HUG, Kiss, & Nestle.
Everyday TO NO ONE'S Dismay.
Earth IS Where They Should Stay.
TO BE A Mother & A Father NOT Sent TO Slaughter. NOT Breeded or Unneeded.

Sepals to skeletal fingers, to yellowed limbs
sunken
She watched the moon, all hazy
and small.
So rugged its whites
as sheets with times stained
Watched it on she did.
(So dusty the skin) Oh, I had loved you
Tens a monsoon’s rosy day;
had loved you dry, as
the suns danced and danced—

So shallow the gaze and the dark’s quiet tusks
So deep she
into her noisy withins.

The forth storey roof with
its precarious railings
and the pitiful, grey street, a wound below.
Its drains and gutters all sawed open
and naked—
In the sudden, spinning fright
I almost held her;

a palm or a palm
or an arm
I almost held—

I knew you so ample.
Whispers of touch, and ballads
such and such
rolled so effortlessly now
on the tongues of memory
As birth her I
though tens a monsoon’s rosy prayer
Bead on bead falls

in this wretched, unending rosary

(With drought-coated of lips) I had loved you a petal
so chaste and unbloomed
and a sepal you had—

Not a blossom I,
still she held, as the winds
As vultures reeled around our beds
So frail our bodies
so terrified and alive,
As dirt bowed, and leaves bowed and all
to the vultures mad

Two lambs us, yet gods we stood

'til whites of her wilted to gold to rust
to dust, and slipped
through the cracked of my hold,
Through a thousand guarding winds
and tens a
vacant sepal
(As crowns and cages
of blossoms wilted unused, they stood)
So shallow a gaze

and the dark’s quiet tusks—
Wade I,
swim I, in the caverns of me where an echo
breathes, and
drown I, undying.
Such windless a serenity
As damp of monsoon’s mornings
rosy,
I had loved you a vulture mad,
but dare I—

twilight kisses after the afternoon rain
raindrops dripping off of blushing fingertips
as bright red blood rushes through your veins
and under the skin of your soft lips

as you pull me close
held so tight and held so warm
the brush of nose against nose
i see the sparkle of your charm

eyes wide, forever surprised
forever amazed and stupefied
our fingers graze against each other
they intertwine, merged together

yet each rose grows thorns
and if unplucked, draws blood
if i had only seen your face of scorn
then i should've thrown away the unbloomed buds.

I can't do death again. Unlike the
soldier on the garden path who
treads his life in patterns I have
no facility for more losses.

If life is a Waste Land don't
remind me.  The blooms fall
from the dogwood, the daffodil
peeks up between the sidewalks.

The footfalls down some passage
which I did not take are the
detritus of a long life unearned.

Don't offer me your hand today.
When I am through this garden
path of reminiscences I will
forever make your tea,but I
will not speak of him who
bought my life.  He whose

mistaken leaves of memory
are trodden cold in the
footfalls of the unearned past

My past, the illusion of it rose
before this likeness in the mirror.
To be wrong changed the brown
hair to white.  The pattern of
silk to cotton.  The warm sun
to cold .

Patterns formed in the sequence
of a love unfilled like the house
not bought or the flower unbloomed.

I can't do death again.  Go with me
along this garden path to the
opened door.  I will take your arm
and I will not look back .

Caroline Shank
04.15.2023

Roses...

roses are breathtakingly beautiful in full bloom •

Alluring,
even seductive
when held
between
one's lips •

Unpetal'd,
it is still
a rose but,
with thorns •

Unbloomed and unessenced it may
occasionally
be •

But a rose,
is still a rose afterall •

Thorns and all •

The thorns
are to
protect itself
from the
unworthy •

Be sure
that you're worthy
to inhale
and grasp
its magical
beauty •

'Yours and everyone's concrete poet'
-👷🏻‍♂️-

How does it feel to stand alone?

With nothing but a stem
And a bud unbloomed,
You are cast in shadow
By the mist
Of the tall trees
That outshine you.

The sun finds them,
Doesn’t even acknowledge you,
Even though those trees
Are the reason for the shade
In which you uphold your residence.

It wasn’t something that was wished
It was given,
But not all presents received
Have much thought,
But the mind accepts them
Because it’s better than receiving nothing.

Gifts of putting you down
In an attempt to make it harder for you to grow,
Wanting you to be exactly what they want,
And never what you deserve to be.

Animalistic men pry and **** you
To drag you into the dirt
With the rest,
Because we are all slaves to attention,
And I’m ashamed to tell you,
Sometimes that’s all you’ll get.

But you should know,
You aren’t like them;
Trying to grow tall,
So that the sun can see you
Isn’t what you need,
It’s what they made you believe.

You are a flower,
Soft and sweet,
Juxtaposing the rough
Trees that try to outshine,
But they know deep down,
They aren’t made like you.

A flower
Doesn’t need the sunshine
To illuminate the darkness around
And to warm the ground enough
That not even the snow falling from their branches
Could make it wilt.

And you are one such flower,
If you decide to be,
But I wonder how it feels to stand betwixt
Such an undeserving crowd--
I wonder how it feels to stand alone,
And I question whether you’ll be so bold
Or if you’ll hide your wonderful bloom
From the world;

I hope you’ll find
The self-acceptance and trust within
To show them what you are made of
Because what you deserve is better
Than what is given.

I had a dream and it brought me back
To that summer we spent
Before it all turned black
We stood in a field of daisies
We stood there alone
With the suns rays upon us
And no where to go
These flowers stood tall
They stood not yet bloomed
The sun shined bright
as your face did, too
you looked at me with something to say
And whispered to me
About  a day
The day these flowers are no longer unbloomed
That will be the day that I can be with you
The flowers never grew
The dream had come to an end
I am left here to wonder
How and when
I can get myself back
To that summer we spent