Jan 8
“Silent Bloom”
She speaks in petals, not in sound,
A finger to her lips, the world held still.
Eyes made of flowers learn to cry,
Each tears a seed of what she feels.
Her silence is not emptiness,
But a garden too full to explain.
Pain blooms where words should be,
Yet beauty grows from every strain.
She hides her voice behind soft pink,
Behind green leaves and fragile grace.
What she cannot say, she lets bloom—
A thousand truths upon her face.
And in that hush, the flowers listen,
They know her story, every scar.
For even in quiet, she is loud,
And even broken, she is art.
-FeaLeanore
