to love an artichoke was often hard work,
she protected her heart avoid all the jerks.
this hadn’t always been her approach to love,
but repeating the past she was weary of.
so layers she grew, with points on the end,
to keep her heart safe, as if history would mend.
and then one day, she sprouted a flower.
the softness felt nice and filled her with power.
as she bloomed, her layers peeled back,
revealing a heart that was still intact.
the thing about love that i know is for sure,
is in order to find it, some pain you’ll endure.
but when real love comes along,
it’ll make you forget the ones that were wrong.