Oddly less feminine,
was the flower
without the colour
who ate the bees with crunches and these
labor scents of oil and dirt
And nails was the petals that
hissed and spat
the flower, the wonder
who grew through
The legs of a man
Over under, near she ponder
I do slightly ever so wonder
How does one break the hand
Oddly less feminine the flower
Who lacked not the power
who pollinated herself with tender roots,
Who stole the sting from wasp alike,
a flower all white,

Oh! My child, don’t hate him
Though you may never see him
But something tells me you may yet see him.
Wait a minute,
He was handsome
If he’s still handsome;
I was young and cute when he married me
He was the foreman in a forge company
We lived together happily
Till I suddenly became blind;
He ran away when I didn’t move
I’ve not heard from him ever since
I’m sure, he’ll come back again.

some or alot of people in the world are certain of some things like religion
but i beleive you cant allways be absolutely certain of a few things
its like walking on ice it could crack suddenly people said prayers that they woudnt die the titanic
some people are more opened minded you have to be with others cultures like music
we are pieces of a puzzle

My somber
sleepless eyes
grimly grows
out their ghastly
guiltless gaze.
Dwindling
down into
a desolate
doleful daze .
As they graze
against my
immoral mirror
and it’s molded
misshapen maze
of shallow
shattered
shaded shards
of shame.
That only
I am left to blame .