old self shedding
I cling to that flower
That I was
Through the eye of sorrow and loss of today.
I was either perfect or innocent or blind
But i was the me i convened with
And argued about
The safe me, the expected me
The solid self.
But the eye of this i matters
They are tired and lonely and brave
Not ready, melting, curious
Worth switching the frame for a change
Linger on who is looking