A Flower That Wants To Be Picked

I am a flower who ignites when springtime comes by,

The color of my bud brings satisfaction to the eye,

It questions me how my portrayal should try,

To tell the people that I am worthy and not to deny.

I am a flower who wants the world to be in my rhyme,

However, circumstances around me feels like a crime,

It broke me inside, pretending I was fine,

Whispering in the wind, if the world left me behind.

I am a flower who tries to find the meaning, but feels lost,

Thinking that the only reason is it is all my fault,

Bleeding the moments, pondering what does it cost,

Even my personality does not believe the word “support”.

I am a flower who wants to be called a flower,

Expecting that someone can pour me with water,

Only to realize the only remedy is for me to offer,

To give my character a space in this dark world, a laughter.

I am a flower who now recognizes and accept,

The shadow of my ghost, I ought to neglect,

I should be the one to build my ego to connect,

That even when I bloom late, I consider myself perfect.

I am a flower who wants to be picked,

But no one is going to bud me, no one else but myself,

To see the inside world entire of love and trust,

Noting that worthiness comes within the unfolding of self.

Layout Artist: Triesha Mae Galang