Your words are paper,
paper which I have shred
Torn and thrown to the ground,
left to rest upon asphalt in the blazing sun.
My foot covers them as I disregard
your sharp, bitter perceptions.
You will not prosper in your negativity.
You have no hold on me.
No, not anymore. I have opened my wings.
Allowing myself to blossom,
like an undying, never-wilting
flower.
A lily saturated with beauty,
a rose captured by sweet essence and grace.
I am a flower, acceptable for who I am.
I will not be your metamorphosis.
This is who I choose to be.
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