Forget-me-not,
the spring flower of respect,
something I feel
like I don't get.
I'm always stuck with red roses of passion,
not true love.
I'm thrown aside when I'm not perfect
like a one-winged dove.
You always seem to go
and give me a goodbye gift of scars.
You take me for granted,
and I don't know how I've made it this far.
But forget me not
since I'll learn to rise above the ashes
of the bouquet of roses you walked on,
making it past this.
6.2.2023
YOU ARE READING
pieces of me: poems
PoetryTo the girl twenty-four hours ago, crying into her pillow and questioning what comes next, you'll be okay. "pieces of me" is a collection of thoughts that make up who I am, inspired by either fictional or real emotions and experiences. Through poetr...
