| Pretty Words Are Picked Flowers |
“You’re beautiful,” makes me sick.
Lazy words and sweet nothings.
I’ve found that Bumble is a hive full of bumbling bees,
The only “real” I’ve seen is bait on a hook.
Full of the same hollow tone I’ve heard time and time again,
Which never fails to be quick to say goodbye.
Our grains of sand are too precious to give away
To people with no teeth when they bite off more than they can chew.
I am not a passing moment in your story.
My mind will not split into war for your time.
My name will not be reduced to a memory on a bed frame.
I will only let you touch me when my skin isn’t all you crave.
When I can trust you to cradle my pain, and help me nurse it to sleep.
Whisper to me your raw edges and I will flow around them.
Show me seeds you’ve collected, the garden you water when you weep.
The beauty in the scars that painted your canvas.
Show me the path of healing you’ve charted in your stars
And I will tell you the only gift I’ve ever cared about is when you’re present.
I’m not seeking another half, for you have not found me in pieces.
Don’t fall, or fake, build with me.
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