When You are Born Into a Garden

When you are born in a house of flowers,

full of butterflies and bees and colour,

its hard to see people’s bad sides,

and the flames that they hold,

 

when you are born in a flammable house,

you have to be careful,

careful of how close you get to an open flame,

for the fear it might burn, 

 

not everyone is a flame,

some are lighter fluid,

and other are matches,

yet when together they create,

a display of flames,

that will dance in a way so beautiful,

you almost forget the pain of the burns,

yet this flame,

this display of red and orange,

is more dangerous than any other,

 

when you are born into a garden,

you are taught,

butterflies are beautiful,

and bees are sweet,

yet what you weren’t taught is,

butterflies can’t see how beautiful their wings are,

and bees,

bees die in 28 days,

 

butterflies live their whole life,

not knowing of the beautiful,

patterns and colours that are on their wings,

 

and bees,

bees live their whole life,

doing things for another,

the same routine over and over,

over and over until they die,

 

When you are born into a garden,

Full of joy and colours,

You do not notice the burns on your skin,

Because you are fixated,

Fixated on the way that the butterfly’s wings look,

And the way the bees never fail their job,

 

When you are surrounded by colour,

You don’t notice how dull you are,

 

When you are surrounded by bees and butterflies,

You don’t see your own worth,

 

And when you are born into a garden,

It is only a matter of time till that garden,

Turns to ashes,