if the daisies told you to make your own decisions,
would you?
if the rosebuds asked politely for you to be yourself,
would you?
if the hydrangea bush pled for you to think your own thoughts,
would you?

i am lost in a myriad
of tangled, tangled
forsythia;
for shame,
you told me not to write strong sentiment,
that my drafts were best left in the drawer.
scared am I of that thorny vise,
but they're not drafts anymore.