The Decomposition of a Flower

By Sophia Canzonieri

 

Maybe I am withering

Who are you to say

It’s hard to understand

The things you can’t say

When you’re trying not to vomit

It all just comes, bubbles up

I thought I was hardened

Like the calluses on my feet

But really I am a fragile pansy

Too much of a wussy pussy cat

To tell you the things I need to know

“You’re not the only one here who’s helpless”

I feel the need to remind you

But would you care

If you stepped on

My already trodden flower?

Then will I be allowed to speak?

To let you know the things I need

Who’s to say?

Maybe I am withering.

 

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