Natashia Rose
I Will Always Be a Wildflower

I always thought myself
to be a wildflower
gracefully swaying
with the warm summer breeze
as the sunlight gently kisses my face.
A passerby stopped to admire my beauty
and as he plucked me
from my ever-expansive meadow,
I was grateful
he chose me
out of all the other flowers.
He placed me in an exquisite vase,
atop a dining table grand and pristine.
I was the center of his home and
I was grateful
to be surrounded
by so many fine possessions.
I could no longer feel the wind
dancing across my bare, green flesh
but occasionally
he would open a window
allowing the warm air
to ruffle through my soft petals.
In that moment
I felt free.
The light of the sun had faded
but I felt a familiarity
in the sky-blue shade of his eyes
that gave me hope
when he stopped to once again
admire my beauty.
I stretched myself to set roots
but soon discovered
no earth to be found
at the base of my elaborate crystal vase.
My growth had been severed
and I was drowning
in murky, stagnant waters,
void of any change.
The color of my soul began to fade
and the softness of my petals
began to wilt and wither,
I longed for the meadow-
alive with possibility
and endless skies.
I felt myself shrinking, splitting-
my beauty decomposing and uniting
with the waters of uncertainty beneath me.
With eyes void of the admiration
he once granted,
I met his gaze one last time.
And in an act of righteousness
he removed me from the exquisite vase,
cascading my fragile body
across a ground of cold reality.
As I lay contemplating my dire state,
the sun began to rise
and once again-
I felt her warmth upon my face.
I was hardened
as the heat began to dry my flesh.
And then the breeze returned-
with a rush of intensity
it thrust the remaining pieces of my being
into the atmosphere,
carrying me within its soul
and gently releasing me
back to my beloved meadow.
I let go.
I rested.
As my flesh returned to the soil
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