Flowers Aren't Always Pretty

This is for the kids that are stepping on throats.
And for the kids that are suffocating underneath something they believe is bigger than themselves.

 

This is for you.

This is for the stubborn kids with the broken family's because I never knew what to say to you, Mason.  "I'm sorry" never seemed enough.

This is for my sister, Mckenzie.  I want you to read this when I'm gone because yesterday you told me "you can't wait for me to leave" and that put another mark on my wall of shame.  I think that's 7 now.

This is for the killers and the stoners, because I know who you are, and I never wanted to be like you.

This is for the kids that are pressed deeper and deeper into the depths of addiction. For the ones that can't support a family, and for the ones that won't serve missions.

This is for the poppers because you're living red, orange, green, blue, and purple
and all I'll ever be is a fading grey.

This is for my homies because our tears have ran down our faces more than once.  Our tears that desperately needed a home inside each others hearts.  This is for the laughs, because Colt 45 never gets old.

But... This is mainly for me.  Because I think I found myself in the last 2 months. Crushed dreams and a distorted perspective became a wall of solid gold. I changed my aim from the stars to the horizon and I've ran like hell ever since. 

This is for the little boy that never wanted to be an astronaut,
and for the kid that got cut his senior year.

This is for me.





- Trevor Powers