Bloom
I would rather cling to the edge of a cliff as an ugly, wiry,
weed
than be a beautiful rose confined to a pot.
They try to unfold your velvet petals with their clumsy, feeble
hands,
whereas I remain unscathed by any but my own.
You will be severed for your beauty, because that’s what they
think of
love.
No greedy hands will find my own. I will stand
alone;
strong and free.
I will see more than brick walls from glass cages;
I will see a world of color beneath my roots.
Let them sulk in beauty, harnessed by a pot of dirt;
for I would sooner wilt on a cliff’s edge
gazing out towards an unfathomable beauty, rather than by
confined by
my own.
I will let them be as flowers, going no further, seeing no more.
A bud
hanging low, amidst buds.
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