he told me that i am out of his league.
in which league does he think i reside?
surely not with the rose girls, no
they are beautiful, they are fresh and bright
residing in delicate glass vases, soft petals flawless, unmarked and smooth
surely he can't think i can compare to them
i am no rose, can't he see?
a sunflower, perhaps, but that was long ago
when i still sat happily planted in the soil of innocence and naivety
maybe not the prettiest, no, nobody picks the sunflower as their favourite
but charged by the glow of the sun, i was cheery and bubbly
if only he saw me then, he would understand how much i've withered since
as it goes, though, nothing gold can stay
my petals began to wilt early, trauma and abuse drying out my innocent soil
how desperately i tried to hold on to my cheer, but the sun would no longer shine
my warm, sunny contentment and bright, bubbly elation
turned into cold, bitter contempt and pale, broken emptiness
feebly trying to replant my roots in the soil, most of it had been dug up
my sad, tired eyes filled with unshed tears, staring into frigid ones filled with hate
i wilted, but still i was abused
in comparison to the smooth, unblemished, soft petals of the roses
there is no possible way he could seriously believe my dried out petals
marked up with scars, forming a demented road map of all my hurt
could be as beautiful as he claims
what more could they possibly want when there was nothing left for me to give?
but there was one thing that hadn't been taken, i didn't want to think about it
the few shreds of innocence and naivety i clung to told me they couldn't
no one could be so cruel, it was all that was left of me that wasn't damaged
and yet there it was, the deadly nightshade, wicked enough to succeed
where so many others had failed
it took my seed
with the last of my innocence gone, i wilted down into the earth
no wish to ever rise up again, willing to let myself die, end the devastating pain
but as i felt my life leaving me, i cried
i was terrified
i was still young, a child, barely into the fourteenth year of my life
forcing the poison out of me, tears falling from broken hazel eyes
onto my mother's pale, freckled cheeks as she watched me, hunched and withered
it was in that moment i realised that no, i did not want to leave this life
my mother needed me, so much more than i had ever realised before
but the scars and sickness remain, standing out like a sunflower amongst roses
i can't seem to comprehend the way he looks at me with such sincerity
when he wipes tears from my cheeks, and tells me i'm gorgeous as he does so
oh how i wish i could look through his honest eyes and see myself
maybe i would be able to see myself as a rose, the way he does
or would it just be the same broken, wilted sunflower staring back at me?
i don't think i will ever know for sure
