I have never been one for flowers,
but daisies—
they remind me of something familiar.

They do not boast like roses,
nor do they cling like vines.
They stand, steady and quiet,
rooted deep in the earth,
unshaken by the wind.

I’ve seen them in fields where boys once ran,
where laughter was careless,
where dreams were small but bright.
I’ve seen them by gravestones,
where men stood in silence,
hands in pockets, eyes heavy with things unsaid.

Daisies do not ask for admiration.
They bloom where they must,
where life places them—
by the roadside, in the cracks of stone,
in the hands of a child
who does not yet know their worth.

Perhaps men are like daisies,
weathered but standing,
never asking for much,
but always there


@Erenwrites

Pluck,
She knows me.
Pluck,
She knows me not.
As the sun settles in its high place in the sky,
we are settled in your bed occupied with different tasks.
I’m restless, but you’re content editing our latest Roblox video.
Or so I thought.
Joy is a peculiar thing.
It fills you with a sense of completion, but also a sense of dread.
You never know if it will end.
But this joy, it doesn’t end.
Pluck,
She knows me.
Pluck,
She knows me not.
As I throw on my cap and shoes I watch you run out the door.
The wind blows through my hair, and the quick ponytail I put in comes undone.
This is what it’s like to finally feel happiness,
and I could latch onto that feeling forever.
Pluck,
She knows me.
Pluck,
She knows me not.
The hills of Kesling Park become our sanctuary.
They are Littered with innocence and purity.
They are littered with cheerful daisies!
I fall to my knees and into a world I have never known.
A world without strife.
A world where I can just be myself.
Where I can just be with you.
Pluck,
She knows me.
Pluck,
She knows me not.
A friendship is complicated.
Maintaining the perfect balance of connection and individualism is hard to do.
But we’re perfect at it.
We weave in and out of each other in a way that only supplies laughter.
In that same way, I weave our crown.
It’s daisies.
As the sun shines on each flower I see the image of us.
One flower shows understanding,
and another shows entertainment.
One reflects our issues, but the other displays our ability to solve them.
Each one is imperfect as we are, but they never leave each other.
They will forever be in that crown like we will forever be with each other.
Pluck,
She knows me.
And that is where it ends.
As I watch each petal fall to the ground, I have finally found what I’ve spent my life searching for.
Not always will I feel pain and heartbreak,
so I must stop living in fear of it.
She brings me joy, and nothing can take that away.
No wilted flower, no wretched rainstorm, and no heatwave may break what we have.
Because she knows me,
and that’s all I’ve ever wanted.

Daisy.
A little flower with white petals that sometimes turn pink.
An orange centre that withstands the constant extraction of those petals,
with the pang and echo of tiny voice shouting
          “He loves me; he loves me not!
Often mistaken for a ****.

Daisy.
A girl who winces with insecurity
every time the nearest dandelion clock is
plucked from the soiled earth around her.
She watches with wet, reddened eyes
as she is paralysed
and unable to stop the careless children blow away Time,
as if it were some sort of lark,
seed by seed.

Daisy.
A witness to the exposure of stalks and leaves alike;
a veteran of the unwanted embrace and, indeed,
the wanton thieving of petals and memories and silence and voice
combined.

She is swaying but explicitly not
bending to the wind.
She stands her ground and she has
blossomed.

i caught myself digging up old friends
as if i need to see their faces again
i went away and i stayed the same
you lay there and withered away
maybe there's better meadows
to bury these bones beneath
decomposing, roots grow slowly
you could help push the daisies

i never got to love him—
i never got to love the man who would cause a botanical garden to grow in my stomach.
vines to grow throughout my lungs until flowers sprouted from my lips.
the thorns grew thick and wrapped around my vocal cords.
that’s why when you left i couldn’t speak,
i couldn’t say anything to make you stay.
therefore, i picked all the flowers, softly from my lips,
as a final farewell—
a few daisies to remember me by.