I Am A Flower Tangled In The Weeds

featured on Thought Catalog

I live with roses within,

soft golden petals

push past the

canals of my ear,

passionate red buds bloom

along the edges of my hips

and line my inner thighs.


I spit thorns between

two lips

scratching into those that come too near,

who try to buy my bouquet

without realizing

what type of flower I am.


Blushing blossoms shape my face,

while soft stems tangle wildly

away from my scalp.


Dirt builds in the pit of my stomach

a heavy mound

that has grown too dry to water.


I feel the first onset of weeds

gently brush

against my belly button.


And all at once

I feel my petals wither.


I ready myself with a pair of pruning shears,

but I already know

that I cannot snip the weeds

without cutting off a piece

of myself.


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