The sky will be filled with

Navajo souls that have wings of gold and old...

My heart will cry no

more for empty care,

but for a sense of revolt.

No more heating lamps

with lavender light bulbs.

The cure for infirmity will never be sold!

Considered a decoration in

this household.

With a blindfold,

only able to hear the chaos of

a thunderbolt!

The sound didn't scare me,

your degradation served as a mold.

Why be torchered once by phrase

when you can remember it every time you feel ice-cold?

Fifteen words I remember clearly,

like the smell of homemade flan,

controlled. 

Small seed,

the wind took it from his cigarette

smoke and the smell of pepper.

Gentle drift,

the child landed

on an emerald field that only grew cane sugar.

I, it, wasn't wanted;

a mistake of unprotected loyalty,

something made it not commit murder.

A shame really,

that egg yolk yellow beauty

was a parasite to the crop,

massacre!

A flower that was drowned by filthy poetry,

I have sunflower trauma...  

It wasn't necessary,

but it offered a new

opportunity for redemption.

The farmer

was to busy with the cows,

she left it to sugar cookies and religion.

What open field with hummingbirds and ambition?

To much work was

going into the field, improper adoption.

Simple,

uproot it and put it into a pot

with zero cushion.

Clouds and rain seen through a window,

soda and lies

were similar versions.

The Black Death was calming in the evergreen, perfection...

Why was uncle

the one who made my young leaves fall,

aggression?

They echo like the grim memories of the past,

that's my conclusion.

Is it ok to raise a rosebud

child

with words like 'fat', 'mistake', and 'never done abortion'?

A disgustingly corrupt illusion. 

The ocean lives in my poor eyes,

I lose humanity

in my fading yellow color.

Little plant called

freakish

by the way the steam twists,

my waste I most measure.

Mother

that only calls once a week,

did she remember

that I'm not leather?

Petals fall and rot

around the fungi infested earth;

God, tell me I'm pure!

End me with pesticide

because you don't care if I die,

I have sunflower trauma...  

That phrase was

composed in front of the two

people that I trusted the most.

I was forced

to grow up fast and wither young,

I'm just a ghost!

Roast my fallen nurture,

black and white seeds,

with salt and toast.

Looking for my sun with ethos and pathos,

I'm loyal, I can take a beating and an overdose.

Knives speared on the door,

blood on the floor,

and shattered glass ran close.

Dead plants as an aesthetic,

filled with self-harm stars

and you

still don't want me to get diagnosed.

My words

don't work,

neither does my attitude;

to you

I'm deadly like arrows.

I'm hungry for kisses

and hugs,

but his hits made

me touch starved;

he's a monster.

It's always about you

and how you pray,

only praise me for good,

I'm the error.

I saw and see

the times that money

killed me

and put me under the water.

"Te voy a dar tan duro que te vas a acordar de mí para siempre!"

With all this pain

am I still considered a minor?

I wasn't meant to be born,

then why was I subjected to this replay?

I have sunflower trauma...