The beauty of her was not within her life itself
but within the destruction of herself
over and over to continue her life.
It was never destroyed for personal gain,
rather personal growth.
And with each rebuild of her violently destructive life
she realized that growth
cannot be obtained through destruction
but she was too afraid of what it meant to not rebuild,
that she continued
on the cycle hoping to find a flower within the rubble.
A moment of hope
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem