Grow her a petal
She's whithering away,
She's detached from her petals,
But some how, she loves the feeling of not having something to hold on to.
He's holding her now, but she doesn't feel the warmth of his fingers. She's needed him for ever, to shelter her from rain.
However, when she's no longer afraid to grow her own leaves and love the droplets running down her fruits, her use for him has expired.
Her stalk is now too large for him to clasp,
It's a trunk.
Her branches too high to reach.
He can't touch her, he can't reach her.
She's a tower now, and she won't stop until she's in an arm stretch of the sun.
-happiness was never in your arms
YOU ARE READING
The Lace Age | ongoing.
Poetry"My head is full of thorns too harmful to leave unattended. " A collection of poems, short stories and free speeches. Copyright Ariana Miriam.
