Magnolia

Like a yearning young bloom Soft delicate in the skyline Unfathomable in gold pink Is it true that I'm bruised,because when I look into the mirror I only see a blooming Mongolia How come you see bruises laced in plum at the sight of my face Is it an reflection of my soul, or the deceit of yours. Maybe it's just our perception of me I never fitted into a shallow mold of amused society But I've always believed in handcrafted with grace