When I was a kid

I thought all poems were about roses

And violets

Only those flowers could describe feelings

Those feelings I had never felt

Not knowing that I would one day want to feel them

But it turns out

Poems are more like daisies

You pick off each petal

Hoping that they love you back

When you already know the answer

In the process you destroy a perfectly beautiful flower

Letting the white lacey petals fall to your feet

Leaving the centre on the pavement or your front porch steps

Daisies are left for the lonesome

While roses are exchanged between the lovers

But I would give you a handful of daisies

And stab myself with thorns while ripping rose petals

Just to see

Who really loves me

And violets

Violets are there for comfort

When no one comes back to you

Watered in the middle of the night

They sit in a vase that you’ll touch once

And never touch again

It is then you’ll discover

That violets are not blue


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