boredmorso

[boredmorso]

[boredmorso]

I don't speak to express my thoughts, I've chosen poetry, music, art and literature as an immortal expression of my soul

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~It rained~

Source of image: pinterest

[boredmorso]

Sometimes we need poetry to endure our most painful moments for it makes everything beautiful

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@academia-lucifer

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Framing St. Mary's Abbey, York, England.

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Oxford has my heart <3

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Charm has fundamentally changed my entire brain workings and my soul already and it has only been out for 38 minutes

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<3

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A day around <3

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Libraries <3

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[boredmorso]

Boy Holding A Daisy -

The daisy, what a wonderful existence. The white ray florets holding each a memory, all just as special. The yellow disk florets holding his heart, keeping it safe from the people around him. The stem to hold his heart from the ground, to make sure it won't get wisped away on the wind, or ripped out by a passer-by. All components play an important role for him and he makes sure to care for it daily. All his energy goes to this daisy, to make sure it is loved, it is cared for, nurtured like a mother would a child. His scarred hands can protect a lot, from practice, and his goal is to do so. This daisy goes everywhere with him: to school, to violin practice, to piano, to orchestra, to BASW home, to home home.

Everywhere he goes, the daisy comes too.

I found him, holding his daisy, sitting on a bench by himself at the end of the park. His eyes were wide, staring at his surroundings, then at the daisy, the back again.

Repetitive cycle, consistent stress.

As I approached him, I saw his daisy. A wonderful thing, a wonderful companion. It was attached to his pointer finger under a plaster as to not get lost, he clutched it, as to not get lost. I got closer, and as I neared him, a hand touched his shoulder. His parents. They beckoned him to leave, he seemed happy. The daisy wilted, lost its colour, began to cry. His plaster fell off, the daisy did too.

I found it a while later, on one of my walks, next to a group of daisies. I knew it was his as the plaster was still there with it, as if to keep it company until it's owner came back. However, under it I saw a lollipop stick, with a name and a daisy drawn onto it.

Child's handwriting.

His daisy found him now, and hopefully he rests in a field of daisies just like that one. I sat on his bench next to where he sat when I saw him last, crying, I didn't even know him, but I cried.

One daisy grows, another dies. I just wish his daisy lived longer.

- Poem by me 🤍🤎