The Flower
I am a wilted flower
I can't stand up straight
My pedals are slowly falling off
Nothing is great anymore
I am dying
The pen that I have in my hand is screaming at me
Begging me to move
Move and create on the single peice of paper I have
My fingers are rusted and they don't want me to move
My brain is numb and the sliver that is still existing
Somehow whispers to my hands to dance
My hands waltz and spin
Moving farther and farther down the paper
When the last dance is over, there sitting in front of me is a
Work of diffrent size, lines and words
A poem of sadness and darkness begging to get out
A poem of a wilted flower who just wants to be reborn
A wilted flower who wants to be beautiful
Pedals in full bloom with vibrant neon colors
The poem helps this flower
The poem opens this flower up
The flower is reawakened