Two Pieces by Chloe Gorman


He calls her buttercup.
And like a buttercup, she stands proud,

He is the sun that basks her in light,
She, a garish reflection.
A beacon, brazen in yellow,
Petals spread. Come inside.

Temptation tastes like nectar.

He says buttercups are the prettiest flowers.
I say they are weeds.

Call Me Grass

Do not call me flower,
For I am stronger
Than their delicate petals.

Even the rose,
With blood red blooms,
And thorny stems,
Is easily crushed
In brutish hands.

No. Call me grass.
For grass may be burnt,
And grass may be frozen,
Grass may be trampled,
And grass may be torn,
But still it grows.
Breaking, unapologetic, through cracks in concrete.
So do not call me flower,
Delicate and sweet.
Call me grass,
For I will keep growing, always,
In spite of you.

Chloe Gorman is a copywriter, poet & aspiring author. Her poetry & fiction lean towards romantic, dark & gothic themes. She has an MA in Professional Writing from Falmouth University for which she received a distinction. She has poems published in Black Bough, MookyChick & Ravens in the Attic, with poems forthcoming in Fevers of the Mind & Three Drops From A Cauldron.

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