The words
The petals
On a flower that
Thrives by appearance
Is only
Will merely
Be a flimsy
Taste of what's inside
Why price
By the eyes
The symmetry
Of flawed beauty
As though
As most
Are weighed by
Thoughtless ideals
For those
Four arrows
A sma...
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When we buckle under jewelry / Or stand proudly with battle scars / We are never remembered for as long / As beyond what is comfortable, possible.
Where possibility is defined / By the impossibility of a bright / Polka-dotted coward, who's daring enough to / Both dream and follow through.
Why paper burns without matches, I don't know / But here, in a weakling's paradise / We'll write so one day our words / Will frame our hearts in hyacinth stones.
