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  • Writer's pictureNatashia 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