Purpose
I have grown and bloomed,
but my color is wasted.
Unnoticed.
Unwanted.
Untouched.
I gathered my spirit
and threw it atop yours
in hopes that you would yield to comfort
but it instead served as a polish
to make your defenses shine.
Now you mock me,
feeding, multiplying, protecting the darkness
I worked so hard to let out.
The cherished smoke kills you,
eats at you from the inside,
and you act like it pleasures you.
Alas, my gift remains
unnoticed,
untouched,
wasted
on you.
This poem is about:
Me