As I sit and ponder, all there is to be;

I can't but think and wonder, what you think of me.

Some people stare and ponder, asking what's wrong with me;

As I sit and tell them, whom I need to be.

The world is full of mysteries, as sure as sure can be;

Because you can make a girl from flowers, just not out of me.

The world so sad and somber, everywhere I see;

A land so prim and proper, but with neer the room for me.

Though I strive forever, to be whom I need to be;

I just want to tell the world, "that's not the me you see".

There is no cure or potion, nor solution that I see;

Because you can make a girl from flowers, just not out of me.

The world doth seem so somber, when you feel a bit like me;

It makes me even wonder, why I need to be.

The person that is hiding, whom shall never really be;

The person that is there, for only me to see.

For I can't forever be hiding, whom it is I need to be;

Because you can make a girl from flowers, just not out of me.

Sometimes I sit and languish, in a world so full of screams;

About a thing so childish, as whom I am to be.

A thought so rich and lavish, and selfish as can be;

A feeling of want and loathing, how come it's only me?

I feel so scared and lonely, with no end in sight I see;

Because you can make a girl from flowers, just not out of me.

As I lay this out on paper, for all the world to see;

I bare my soul for reaping, to thou that doth judge me.

I lay in contemplation, of all it is I see;

And notice with apprehension, all there is is me.

For life in isolation, did surely make me see;

That I am a girl of flowers, for all the world to see!