Really, truly awful poetry
Found this in my diary from high school:
It’s like I am a flower. Stuck in weeds. No one is pruning the weeds because there’s no one there. My relationship was the weeds. Our love was weeds. When I finally sent seeds off to another part of this big lawn of life, I was free of the weeds. The weeds never came to bother me anymore because there was a fence blocking them from getting to my new seeds. But I have a new feat: no sunlight. My new seeds are in a place now where the sunlight doesn’t reach them. Sure, they aren’t consumed by the weeds of love anymore, but they are stunted by the darkness of regret and confusion. I am drunk on confusion. An ultimatum of contradiction: To be miserably happy or happily miserable? I can’t seem to choose. Plus, there’s one other thing: sure, I sent new seeds off to escape the weeds. But my original bud, my first flower, always remains there in the weeds of love. omg *gag*