My head is scattered,
Picking flowers for the helpless,
Attempting to finally lay the unwilling to rest.
For their constant belittlement of the bewildered,
Has left what it means to be American in pieces.
I want to move to the world deep in his head.
Where everyone strolls,
wiping bits of sunshine from their gaze.
All with the same notion of beauty,
only growing stronger,
From the nurturing warmth, of a good heart.
"To my daughter I will say,
‘See your beauty
without a compliment
or a mirror.’"