I thought about what it meant to me to be a flower in the wild. How she also embodied me. The wild flower and her rejection of perfection, she was a beautiful contradiction.
Grounded at the roots while the rest of her swayed uncontrollably at the mercy of the unpredictable winds of life. Questioning her growth without ever looking down to notice how she has pushed herself through the dirt.
She sprouts in unexpected places where she does not belong; unintentionally brightening up the world around her, refusing to succumb or get lost to the surroundings. She struggles to feel beautiful some days in her wanting to be seen as more; but to be significant, to be remembered and felt.
She has flaws and her being is comprised of imperfections. She is insecure and complex and fragile and sensitive. She spends her life delicate and gentle but also free and unkempt. She is gathered; but in shambles. She pulls herself together and then falls to pieces. She is peace and order but chaos and disorganization. She is depthless yet shallow. She is courageous yet fearful. She is loud yet unheard. She is so beautiful yet so offensive.
She remains frustrated at how her life seems to be a perpetual state of death and rebirth, a constant changing of the seasons. In awe of her rising – every single time.
Growing in the wild meant being an acquired taste; sweet to some and bitter on the tip of tongues of others. It meant being bold enough to grow where other flowers wouldn’t dare to bIoom. It meant to live unbounded and shoot in whichever direction she pleases.
How others may have to get up close, turn their head to a-ha and spot her beauty.
It meant being a beautiful thing untamed. Untouched. Sometimes unseen. Growing and existing contrary to what is expected.
Even in moments of loneliness, she is certain there are others just like her; growing wildly refusing to be tamed, managed or handled. She finally accepts that she is not others’ idea of her. She just exists.
Unruly. Undefined. Unrefined.
Oh the joy in being half wild, half flower.
While i was busy loving you, i forgot to love myself. I spent so much time and heart straining efforts making sure your world was alright, created a bed roses with my blood and tears. while my universe was in shambles. i gave you all of me, and you gave me a tip, like you would a random beggar on the street.
You broke my heart, stared at the pieces and moved on. But one day turned around and asked ME to fix yours. I carried on loving you, when i should’ve hated you. The room you had in my heart is closed for business, But you continue to ask me to love you. The most profound epiphany i ever had was learning that the only person that mattered was me. Your selfishness taught me that. God knows i hate you. For the apology ill never get, but mostly for letting me diminish my own light for a narcissist like yourself. I put you first but you never missed an opportunity to remind me i was last. I taught you how to love, now go love someone else. It still reeks of your influence, your memory lingers like a crutch, a wall I’ve built myself. God knows i hate you… I’m better but i’m still broken. Angry black female addicted to the thought of loving you.