she carried herself as if she
wasn't made of glass,
as if she didn't have the
potential to shatter at any
given moment.
as if her skin wasn't porcelain,
her eyes weren't emeralds,
her lips weren't rubies.
as if she wasn't priceless,
as if she wasn't one of a kind.
she presented herself to be
a bull in a china shop;
ready to destroy anything in its path
regardless of its beauty and worth,
and that included destroying
herself too.
YOU ARE READING
The Rose and Her Thorns
Poetrya collections of thoughts, feelings, emotions that have been put into words and that have been gnawing at my brain. check out my other poetry book 'among the wildflowers.' ••• poetry collection explicit language all rights reserved completed O6...
