Sticks and Stones

Your sticks and stones always break my bones, and your words they always hurt.

No good could come of it with your sapped and aching heart

Spitting out my worth, kicking it to the ground, leaving me in the gutter, good intentions in the dirt.

Bludgeoning me internally I no longer have the words. It's not sorry when it's said a thousand times to save the first.

Your sticks and stones always break my bones and your words they always stay. Groping me with a breathe I cannot inhale.

Your vacant and spare-me heart wrote me off - not sparingly for the feelings that I own.

Your sticks and stones always break my bones and your heart is always heart. A posed garden full of thorns where there they always grew.

But through it all a beautiful flower endures the flower that is you.