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.
Dawson's Creations Literary Journal 