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an almost admitted selfishness.

     
        
       
       
there I am        
myself imagined;        
some see this, as minutiae        
it's all and wholly,        
my reality        
those twisted perceptions,        
hang that albatross itself        
I'm so wicked tired     
of my time wasted on my own pettiness        
and kernels grasped for.        
I was once told never to be anyone's "Plan B"        
forgetting that "Anyone" also means me        
I think.        
I am that unimportant....        
that I am not even my own backup plan.        
I'm lost within a dare,        
 being called fat by beautiful skinny        
or the lone one to see the sky go blinded brilliant
First, actually. ..I was FIRST!        
is what I want to scream at they top of my lungs...  
Before anyone else, even understood to look up
My entitlement is a true storied ailment.        
stars, oceans, beatniks, sex, flowers~        
Flowers of MY choosing.        
Roses are the be all, end all - of course        
no, not a cliché  
Roses are THE only flower  
with sense enough to self protect  
and have others earn their beauty's full display  
They need that brilliant'd sky to shine down  
and cultivate growth to exquisite bloom  
indiscriminate and with masses unknown...  
Until it wasn't.  
I felt special  
Until I didn't.  
I was once beautiful and rose-like  
 
I never was.        
         
       
roses        
don't        
grow        
in        
a    
soil      
of        
sand      
     
       
       
       
       
       
       
Written by Bluevelvete
Published
Author's Note
©Blu2020
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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