april 2, 2016
i told myself to protect my garden
but here i am with bloodstained petals
and tearstained stems.
i told myself that the herbivores
can be ignored
but they are still eating at me.
i told myself that these blossoms
are beautiful, are valuable,
but i am still picking them,
hence killing them.
i told myself that the gardens
surrounding me are blooming,
but i can only watch in envy.
i told myself that these weeds
encompassing me can be destroyed
if i put up a fight.
but i am a flower. and flowers are too delicate.
and these invaders are too vicious.
and so i am being succumbed.
YOU ARE READING
Speed of Sound
Poetry"There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit at a typewriter and bleed." a collection of capricious drabbles. © Valarie Rae, two thousand and thirteen.
