09/17/2026
She wore the night
like ivy on her skin,
dark vines winding
where the moon had been.
Her hips were gardens
no one dared to enter,
roses growing wild
through the cracks of winter.
Black petals rested
against the curve of her shoulders,
while thorns whispered secrets
beneath her skin.
Roots curled around her bones,
holding her to the earth—
not as a grave,
but as a place of rebirth.
She was not delicate.
She was poisonous flowers,
midnight soil,
and crimson roses
drinking from the rain.
And when the world called her broken,
she simply smiled—
because beneath her scars,
something wicked
was still blooming.
🌎 - Ruibal's Plants Of Texas - Where Dallas Grows For Plants
