Daisy

My eyes seem to blur in a whirlwind

As the wind blows my hair;

I glance down and my eyes

Fall on a broken stem—

I gaze at its destruction,

Its pure white petals, no longer a gem

And I think that maybe I

Am that daisy.

With its shattered self

I sympathize;

I realize that I too am a child

In this grown-up world.

Cars speed by and I see

One petal departs

Ever so slowly.

I am far from

The definition of impressive.

I am broken.

Maybe I am

That daisy.

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About heatherd001

Hello! My name is Heather. I'm sixteen years old and I love to write (poems mostly) but I'm working on some story- and novel-writing. Writing is a creative outlet for me.
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