Mona Ster


Message from Writer

The woman who bled ink, died from words she couldn't say.


August 26, 2018


I'm just a street flower- a wild one. 
Something that grew in the harshest places, 
Something that you had probably stepped on or ignored as you walked pass the winding road. 
Something that you never see, too focused with the lush gardens of ethereal and exotic flowers ahead, 
for I can never compare myself to how they sway in the winds, dance in the rain and sing with the birds, 
while they play in their haven of a garden and flirt with all the butterflies and bees.
I can never be those flowers. 
I am a street flower,  something that had lived through the harsh glare of the sun, the endless drought and your big shoes, 
I had lived  and that's what matters. 


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  • rainandsonder

    I love the last line, and the first really hooked my attention. I love how you build a sort of melancholy tone that readers can relate to, and then end it on a sort of happy but unsatisifed note. Love it!

    almost 2 years ago
  • janice

    I really like this! The part where you said "I can never be those flowers" really got to me. Also, this is unrelated, but I'm having a writing contest. You can find it in my profile under my published pieces. Check it out if you would like to join!

    almost 2 years ago