Like a white carnation, I grow,
blooming is a process of letting go,
allowing what I learn to seep through my skin,
not letting all the lies fester within,
keeping hope alive, wandering from day to day,
finding the good in it all, keeping darkness at bay.
Sometimes I wonder, perhaps I’d grow better,
if I had something to care for, another heart to unfetter.
Like a single carnation I grow on my own,
I guess I’ve always been used to feeling alone,
but I’ve realized of lately, carnations aren’t needed,
they’re simply there to look pretty, another spot to be weeded,
I’ve always longed for importance, to be the savior not the saved,
all along it’s the feeling of significance I’ve craved.
Perhaps there’s another young blossom somewhere,
who needs my help, needs someone to care.
My heart is a cavern, there’s plenty of room,
to help another small flower to beautifully bloom.