It eats me up until i choke it out undeserving
And leaves me always starving
It haunts me until i try to make friends with the ghosts
Just to find out that i’m the ghost most
It keeps me quiet and shy
Even though without friends i just want to die
It leaves my head spinning
So that i always feel like i’m falling
Poetry shouldnt exist
I would rather be doing anything else
In the last days I came to the point that my last hope was that my name would at least be branded next to yours
I didn’t care if it was a shell in the ocean that I had thrown
Or in photo with our names written in the back and still a little charred
Or in a book i tirelessly dedicated to you
Or if it was in stone at a simple little graveyard
She loved the beauty of the bright red roses so much that she cut herself on the rose thorns willingly while picking them.
Not knowing that she was killing them too.
Maybe she just wanted to look like them but her blood was the closest thing.
Or maybe she did know that she was killing them, and then thought that she owed it to them.
To take their life she had to give back some of hers.
(I do not own this photo)
We are all afraid that we are going to grow up to be like our mothers
To give into our manipulative ways, our fire stoked until all we can do is burst out our flaming color
Falling into the legacy, trapping us one after another
Until one day we realize that we tried so hard to not becomes our mothers
That we forgot all we needed to do for our daughter is love her