the flowers will always live through their misfortune vase

the beer bottle has doubled as a flower vase for over a decade,
it is old,
it is cracking,
it is overflowing,
the blue flowers can't find the pain of years of hurting.

it is full.

let the flowers be replanted,
pour the alcohal down the drain,
bathe them in liquid water,
soothing their souls,
diminishing their bruises,
straightening their stems,
brightening the happiness within.

the tape won't hold the cracks much longer,
how long until the next piece goes flying,
until the liquid runs down,
the tall neck,
over the label,
dribbling across the raised dots,
fooling like Braille,
which aren't really words that can be read by everyone,

sprinting from day to day,
relapsing through time,
to a time hiding under a basket,
to a time,
with yelling,
with screaming,
with fear installed like a doorknob on a door lacking a secure lock.
screaming down the stairs,
flailing chokes,
hidden marks,
false smiles,
lies to teachers,
cries that aren't wet,
tears that can't be seen,
dry sobbing hidden under the blankets.

hiding.
hiding,
being insivible,
rejecting cruel remarks,
knowing loving ones are lies.
not knowing who to believe,
so trust no one.

until now?
i am in love.

years of knowledge hidden,
years spent in hiding,
from those meant to keep one in safety,
years spent studying,
not caring what time it was,
years spent digging into my arms,
with a lighter and knifes and pins and anything possible,
to distract my mind from what the breaking bottle holds.

a beer bottle is replacable with a plastic pop bottle,
a much larger bottle,
meant to be indestructable.
the advertisments lied.