Confessions of an Optimistic Pessimist

You’ve always had an eye for
Pretty things.
You’ve plucked the
Pretty petals off
Pretty flowers,
Watching them
Descend and wilt by your feet.
Too, have you
Plucked pretty girls.
Plucked the light from their
Their pretty eyes.
Plucked the warmth
From their pretty smiles.
Collecting pretty dreamers
In a glass jar.
You pricked holes in the top
And told the pretty girls
Not to worry their
Pretty little heads.
That they can only breathe
If they press their
pretty little lips
To the surface and
Fill their pretty little lungs
Just enough.

You’ve always had an eye for
Pretty things.
And that is why I have thorns.
I will prick you
And make you bleed
Before you ever pluck me.