“I’m simply a wildflower unaware of where I’ve come from, but allow me some sun and rain and see me bloom.”

She just wants to understand what it feels like to be herself again.

Fear lives in the mind of doubt. Courage lives in the minds of those who dream.

Find beauty in my scars. For I’m a walking gallery of several masterpieces.

They silenced her tongue, for they feared how sharp it might cut them.

I am suffocated by the arms, I once called home.

In my quiet is when the voices in my head get the loudest.

Within me lies an abundance of love that your ego was too blind to see.

Perfection is what I craved, from a far from perfect world.

All burdens are gifted heavy, but through you runs a abundance of strength strong enough to carry it.

My skin will continue to carry your memories, even if my mind wants to forget.

There is strength in breaking and becoming.

I refuse to be strong for them, for I’m allowing myself to embrace my weak.

Beauty now lies behind some of the deepest of scars where pain once called home.

There is magic in shattering, for the most beautiful masterpieces are made from broken glass.

They ask me what it is to be a woman, as if I have to explain what it is to be a human.

I’ve seen far too many people lose their chance, waiting for others to catch up.

You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep spring from coming.

Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.

Give me odorous at sunrise a garden of beautiful flowers where I can walk undisturbed.

Die when I may, I want it said of me by those who knew me best, that I always plucked a thistle and planted a flower where I thought a flower would grow.

People give flowers as present because flowers contain true meaning of love.

Love is the flower you’ve got to let grow.

You throw thorns, falling in my silence they become flowers.

The trees, the flowers, the plants grow in silence. The stars, the sun, the moon move in silence. Silence gives us a new perspective.