In flowers we hide

 

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Poetry

This is a short book of poems based on finding self identity. Remember that you are made to be.....YOU. Your wonderful just the way you are.

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In flowers we hide

We always hide, hide what we feel inside ourselves. I have yet to meet an honest person. People say there happy, but are they? Perhaps they hid in flowers so long, they thought they became a rose.

But…..roses are sad. The color of blood, covered in thorns. Are we roses then? Or are we Morning glories? Do we bloom for a moment and then close away, isolating ourselves from the world?

In flowers we hide, in flowers she hides……in flowers, in flowers, in flowers I hide.

Modona was asked if she was happy once, she said she was tormented by her own demons…….the thorns on her stem. Is anyone happy? If you were honest you would say no. Deep down there is something everyone longs for. Some fill it, but then they long to be closer to it……to him. No one’s honest with me…with her……with the world, with themselves. No one, no one at all.

In flowers we hide, in flowers she hides…….In flowers, in flowers, in flowers I hide.

What if we were all along, dandy lions? Weeds, all little weeds mistaken my children to be flowers. Mistaken……are we mistakes? No, not at all. The potter has a right to make pots of noble use and those of common. We were made for a reason, rather that reason is high and prideful or low and shameful……it doesn’t matter you were made. The potter, he never makes mistake. But sometimes she feels like one, they feel like one, I feel like one. But no, we were made. Made with thorns and dirt, but we were made.

In flowers we hide, in flowers she hides, in flowers, in flowers, in flowers I hide.

In flowers we hide, why? Because they please us. We cover ourselves with them to hide the broken cracked people beneath. We use them to hide the smell of our shame, to hide the shame…..we all have shame, no? But what about being ourselves? NO, never. The world wouldn’t accept that……but who cares? We are each a flower, a special specific flower. Underneath the mound of pedals and roses, lilys, and morning glories we are a unique flower. Our happiness, our shame, our guilt, our joy it’s what makes us. It’s what makes us unique, special, different. The world says different is bad, but NO! I say it’s good, I say were special for being and feeling what we do, what we are, instead of who we seem to be.

In flowers we hide, in flowers she hides, in flowers, in flowers, in flowers I hide.

For me, I want to take off my mound of flowers. To show who I am inside. But it’s scary to think of breaking the walls of flowers and vines I have taken so much time to grow. The devil he whispers “if they know YOU they won’t like you.” BUT NO! if they don’t like me without my disguise of flowers then they don’t deserve the flower that I am! That I always been…….for me, for me I have always hid in flowers. But no more, no more. I want it to be me, just me.

In flowers we hide, in flowers she hides, in flowers, in flowers, in flowers I hid.

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Remember

Though I’m told what I’m not,

I need to remember what I am.

Though I’m told I never will,

I need to remember in which I can.

Though I have the floors rejection,

I need to remember the balcony’s cheer.

Though I have many weaknesses,

I need to remember my strengths.

And though life may not be fair.

WE need to remember to just keep going on

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Looking through glass

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Wish in vain

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~

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