Your shoulders cave in , due to the weight of the world in which you carry on your back.
She realized she no longer had the delicacy that a flower contained, a flower wasn’t who she was in the inside.
A flower would never grow here but a wilderness of endless opportunities was what she now wanted endlessly.
A flower was to be picked for ones own liking. She had plans of her own.
Visions she grown in alone.
She slowly begin brushing off how men mistreat her, she slowly brushes off how she deceit herself antagonizing herself with ones own flaws. Slowly seeing her reflection take form in the mirror.
She wasn’t a flower you would pick for selfish reasons, aroused in the depth of her beauty. She was multiple flowers you wouldn’t dare pick , because some flowers are better off unpicked, untouched by men’s inability to see her potential to be more than what is constant.
She was beautiful in her own aroma, she basked under her own glow which was always alluring to those who wondered.
She held those who wondered captive ,
She was beauty defined.
While I was held captivated by need to tell her constantly.
She pauses in rhythm with earth rotation,
Reminding me that she was beauty that words could not account for.
She was to define beauty for herself so she won’t have to rely on someone else to see the beauty that she possesses,
the flowers that she harvest.
Nor does she know the depth of her beauty to its truest intent , how her beauty freezes the soul that gazes.
I was who was lost within the meadows where her valley meets the horizon in which flowers bloom underneath the sunset that is cast by her eyes.
She was naive, unaware of the beauty she possessed.
Unaware of the flowers that she was able to harvest.