Flower

I hold a flower in my hand

It's been with me since I was born

Delicate to the eye, soft to the touch

Perfect, taintless, lily white

As I run and as I play

I try to keep my flower clean

People saw my perfect flower

And decided to take advantage

They stepped on my flower

Made me cry

Whispered crude words into my ear

It was all a joke to them

A joke

But I believed every word

My flower became tattered and bruised

Just like my body

Just like my soul

I threw my flower on the ground in a bout of range

Stomping on it until it died

I hated that nasty flower

Reminding me of what I've lost

Throwing myself on the bed in exasperation 

I closed my eyes and fell into a restless sleep

I wake up to my flower gone

In its place

A mature red rose

I was all grown up

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741