“Honey, you are a rose.”

He pondered, what would make them believe in me? And God created women.

A creature lives deep within, rotting far beneath my skin. Touch the pain inside of me, just to let my heart be free.

I was born from nature therefore, I am art.

For my own sanity, I must love myself in an obsessive and urgent manner. My life depends on it. I am healing.

With all the secrets and lies you keep. Your beauty is only skin deep. Vamp.

Everything intensifies during a full moon. Your edge creeps up slowly on the awaiting shore.

Because of her, I know unconditional love. Because of him, I have learned to forgive. Life lessons from mom and dad.

If I can inhale I can speak up.

I am filled with mirth at my own rebirth.

Leave all hurt in the past to let love in. Hopeful. Don’t block your blessings.

You don’t need him. Bloom baby, bloom.

Even the prettiest rose wilts.

What a privilege to be a woman.

But you’re acting like a weed.

A rose with her thorns is still a rose.

It was simply divine intervention.

Welcome as the flowers in May.

I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o’er vales and hills When all at once I saw a crowd A host of golden daffodils Beside the lake beneath the trees Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

The moon, like a flower in heaven’s high bower, with silent delight sits and smiles on the night.

Half Gods are worshipped with wine and Flowers. Real Gods require Blood.

One daffodil is worth a thousand pleasures, then one is too few.

You’re always begging things to love you, he said, as if you were a beggar for love. Even the flowers, you have to fawn on them–

The softest breeze to fairest flowers gives birth: Think not that Prudence dwells in dark abodes, She scans the future with the eye of gods.

To me the meanest flower that blows can give thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.