The Flower

I am a wilted flower

I can't stand up straight

My pedals are slowly falling off

Nothing is great anymore

I am dying

The pen that I have in my hand is screaming at me

Begging me to move

Move and create on the single peice of paper I have

My fingers are rusted and they don't want me to move

My brain is numb and the sliver that is still existing

Somehow whispers to my hands to dance

My hands waltz and spin

Moving farther and farther down the paper

When the last dance is over, there sitting in front of me is a

Work of diffrent size, lines and words

A poem of sadness and darkness begging to get out

A poem of a wilted flower who just wants to be reborn

A wilted flower who wants to be beautiful

Pedals in full bloom with vibrant neon colors

The poem helps this flower

The poem opens this flower up

The flower is reawakened