"I Love You More Than My Own Skin And Even Though You Don't Love Me The Same Way, You Love Me Anyways,

"I love you more than my own skin and even though you don't love me the same way, you love me anyways, don't you? And if you don't, I'll always have the hope that you do, and i'm satisfied with that. Love me a little. I adore you."

Frida Kahlo

I hope my absence gives you the peace my love apparently never could.

You are flowers growing in my body

Blooming through my ribs

Choking my veins

Vines crawling up my throat and around my bones

Devouring me from the inside out

"Flowers" By Calla Magnolia Willis

She made me a poet.

Echoes of a Silent Symphony

In shadows of a love once bright,

Time whispers tales of a silent night.

A year has passed, a silent cry,

As memories linger, refusing to die.

Her birthday echoes, a haunting song,

Through tears that fall, where love went wrong.

A distant gaze at a friend's tale,

A wound reopens, a ship set to sail.

Wet pillow cases, silent cries,

A heartache buried, where true love lies.

Dried thought-filled eyes, a hollow heart,

Yearning for a chance to restart.

In the echoes of what used to be,

A broken symphony, lost at sea.

Yet hope may rise with each sunrise,

As healing whispers through tear-stained eyes.

Grief is love's souvenir. It's our proof that we once loved.

Grief is the receipt we wave in the air that says to the world: Look! Love was once mine. I love well. Here is my proof l paid the price.

- Glennon Doyle Melton, Love Warrior