fourteen

I am like a flower, planted

But unsure where to rank my leaves

You are like beauty for granted

Indifferent to the one who leaves;

The blossoms came unasked for

“You are too soft”, people keep telling me, standing ankle-deep in my organs that get squashed all too easily.
“You need to harden up or you’ll get hurt”, they demand, as if them being stones wasn’t the only reason for all of my sorrows.

And how did they become like this?
Did they wake up one morning and found their bodies covered in an armour of granite or weren’t they surprised at all at the brick walls surrounding their hearts, because they’d put it on deliberately?

I used to carry my heart on my tongue

And my cheeks give away my thoughts

For now it’ll beat only palm-wrapped in draught

Since elsewhere it’d squish up my lungs

I suddenly unconsciously talked evil in shame

And I pick up the gaze on the grounds

For now I stretch transparent hands out to hold;

I wish I was bold, there’s nothing to blame All I know of the thing in my palms is it pounds