You assume you know me,
Since you lived with me.
You think you know...
All my pains, my happiness, my life...
Me.
What you fail to acknowledge,
Is that you never took the time to know me.
Instead of listening, you turned the other way.
How could you know me...
When you never gave me the opportunity to listen to me.
You've seen my tears... Not my sadness.
You've seen my smile... Not my troubles.
You've heard my laugh... Not my worries.
You kept raising an eyebrow, when I exalted in new teachings to grow spiritually.
Instead of causing trouble,
I let it go... Why?
Because who needs a person who wont give you the time of day to know you.
I need more than that.
I need you to listen and understand... A task that seems impossible for you to do.
So let's hope, you change your ways...
And hope some day, you'll be my friend again.
©Lily M. Sky

this isn't me trying to heal
from some pathetic broken heart
this isn't me in some sort of manic eposiode scrambling for my sanity
this isn't me trying to numb myself down so i don't feel pain
from something that happened ten plus years ago in my childhood
this is me now
these are the streets i walk
and
this is who i am

absouletley.
     positively.
    nothing.

Every time I rest my head on his chest, I could hear echoes of all the people who had let go.

How silly is the little flower
to think that it has such a large impact
on anyone's life.
It's as if it says
"I know I am just a flower
and it's well past the hour
but you picked me from the rest
so I must be the best.
So when I leave,
don't forget me please."

But it's just a little flower
that was chosen for no other reason
than to bring a little bit of happiness.
Yet the flower still speaks,
"I don't understand what you understand
but I know that I am not anything grand.
But it was me that you chose.
You watered me with the hose
and I have grown to be old
but now everything I feel is cold."

Poor little flower,
how long have you been here?
Shivering and shriviling.
But bless your soul you still speak.
"I know some time has passed
since I saw you last.
But I remember your sad smile
and how you had to sit down for awhile.
Your thin white hair has become flat
and I no longer see you sit where you sat."

That small, old flower,
drooped one last time.
With one last sigh
the flower picker spoke.
"I'm sorry little flower
it is well past my hour
and you're as thin as my hair
that has become so brittle without care.
But don't you worry
he is coming in a hurry
and I will not forget you
if you will forget-me-not, too."

She tried
to paint pain
on the canvas
but failed
cause..
sometimes the pain
must only
be felt
and not portrayed !!