a hopeless romantic's heartbreak | poems

Dead flowers

I hate that you still make me cry.
I hate that I always think of you,
no matter how much I try.

But it's hard to move on from such hurt
when you gave them the sweetest flowers,
but all they gave you was dirt.

I showed you my scars and you showed me yours,
but no matter how open you are with someone
they can still shut all their doors.

You locked me out and threw away the key
without any explanation of why you had to leave.

So I'll watch you through the windows hoping for something more,
painfully knowing that you're someone I'll always adore.

So I'll take the dirt you gave me
and watch the rain pour down,
and wait for new flowers to begin blooming all around.

You let the flowers I gave to you die,
but I hope you remember that those flowers made you smile from time to time.