hey hey
look what I have
She is from loud music
Loud enough to rattle an entire building, singing lyrics she doesn’t understand just yet,
From climbing cherry trees and flying out of high swings
From the sweet smell of roses and childhood memories, laughs of children
That grip her so hard, like a hand around her throat, reminding her she’ll never be the same
Reality crept in, like words that she doesn't want to listen to because they might hurt
Like trying to sleep on a bed of roses
With a weighted blanket of emotional agony.
The thorns prick and stab and are washed in blood
And she doesn’t realize that words can’t actually kill her.
Reality is like a large caterpillar,
Slowly creeping up to feast on the leaves of the beautiful rose
She will see herself as,
But all she sees is a dying stem
Left to rot in the garden of life.
Her feelings confuse her, not knowing
Why she’s sad, how she’s sad, but she knows what she’s sad about.
She likes words but hates them equally,
Helpful in essays but not enough
To help her know why she is this way.
But she will be better,
She is going to listen and absorb sounds around her
Like the first rain of spring,
Watering trees and grass and flowers and roses
With thorns like words spoken every day.
The sweet smell of rain and roses hangs in the air,
Like soft words whispered or harsh ones never spoken.
I am the rose, the words,
The soft, gentle spring rain of the midwest to the raging hurricane on the coast.
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