You threatened me with good times,

I am a flower,

I opened my petals and let you in.

You picked me from a garden and discarded me when the smell wore off,

When I began to wilt I was no longer your muse,

I tried to keep you a secret 

I feared no one would believe me if I told them,

Told all the thing you do,

It’s funny how these things happen, 

It’s funny how I turned these little nothings and to somethings,

And you played me like an overplayed song,

You stripped me bare and I sat there naked from embarrassment

Luckily, the wind blew and the last seed left in me flew,

 I began to bloom AGAIN but this time I was not picked.

I was not the one you thought of when you laid awake at night in bed

 You no longer threatened me with “good times”

This might not mean nothing to you but it means closure to me

This time I’m growing into a tree and the only one who can pick me is me

If you ever tried to pick me again you would only be pulling a little leaf

It’ll grow back,

I am strength, I am happiness,

I am the voice that told people 

The one that told them you were be reason I cried,

The reason why good times meant I’d be pried down and held against my will

Silent cries

I am my own good time.