Trying Too Hard

The bouquet of carnations was a little too red,

straining towards the light, trying a little too hard to be roses;

they smelled as sweet, but the lie was there.

I remember you gave me roses once.

I can’t remember why, but the intention was there,

I’m sure.

But I never liked those flowers:

They lived a little too long,

smelled a little too much like a late proclamation,

looked a little too beautiful after a week of neglect.

But the chocolates you gave me were lovely.

I didn’t eat them.

Perhaps I should have,

but I hate to get my blood sugar up.

I don’t want to get carried away as a result,

lest you think I’m trying too hard.

by DeathNoteMathChick


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