bleached of anything ive ever felt

but i can feel the vines of hope
inserting themselves through my shell

the bloom of a flower,
and the growth of a thousand leaves

collapsing and shattering what used to hide my voice

so i can present the soft vegetation of what i want to give,
leaving it open and ready for hurt

because ill always have more petals on my stock
but never thorns

ill let you see me
but only the right ones can enter