Can’t we find love in our selves
Without worrying what others
Think about us?
We are told that there
Is always an enemy amongst us,
But they never for once said it will be yourself.
Hidden in capes like golden silks
Wrapped from the sun’s beams,
Those pretty words
Turned our thoughts away.
Petals wilting from a dying Rose,
Whose thorns remain sharp
For the upcoming winter.
Funny how those words
That seem to rip our fragile skins were
The only t r u t h that purely existed.