If It Hurts, It Is Beautiful
.
And when you stood up it was with the whitest bouquet of surrender--
when I said I love you you cried don't hate me.
When I pulled the roses out of my eyes and begged to see the world;
yearned to look at you for what you really are--
I was blinded. My eyes were empty.
.
So I closed them. Someone else's mom put flowers around my head
and I wore them. But when the day trudged on, when those flowers
cradled my head and drooped into my eyes
I had to cry for you then.
.
Because what is love if not eternal?
What is a father if not the seed that sustains us,
brings us into the person we are--
plants us in the home where we'll grow;
shove roses in our eyes
convince us to look at them like petals
bat our thorn coated eyelashes
until our faces bleed
.
never know the difference between
the red streaks and crying
never know where to point our
lady fingers.
Wrap our arms like vines around them
forever.
And love them. Regardless.