What if it rained daisies today?
And no one got wet
and nothing washed away?

What if the sun shone bright
as daisies flew?

What if the breeze blew
soft daisies like spinners
in the wind?

Would we all be happy then?

I was down.

And so I decided I needed flowers.

But not roses. Because roses have thorns.
And I am so sensitive lately.

I decided, not mixed flowers.
Because I’m mixed up.
And I need to stabilize.

I decided, not tulips.
Because tulips droop.

I decided,
I need gerbera daisies, bright.

Because gerbera daisies stand upright.

And so I bought some
in a wonderful shade of Fuchsia.

DAISIES

Will you walk through the daisies with me,

while the moonlight wraps us

in a cold huddle,

making us feel at home?

We can walk barefoot

through the flowers,

while the grass tickles our toes.

We can lay down

and look up at the sky,

while humming your

favourite song.

I can pluck the stars

and sew them into your hair.

I can make you a tiara

out of all the wishes

which the shooting stars carry.

I can lasso the moon

and fix her into your eyes.

I can capture the hush of the night,

and place it in your smile.

We can talk about nothing,

yet everything.

We can be alone

with each other.

We can get lost.

Will you walk through the daisies with me?

Daisy.
A little flower with white petals that sometimes turn pink.
An orange centre that withstands the constant extraction of those petals, with the pang and echo of tiny voices shouting
“He loves me; he loves me not”-
Often mistaken for a ****.

Daisy.
A girl who winces with insecurity
Every time the nearest dandelion clock is
Plucked from the soiled earth around her.
She watches with wet, reddened eyes as she is paralysed
(If being limbless can equate to such a feeling)
And unable to stop the careless children blow away Time as if it were some sort of lark-
Seed by seed.

Daisy.
A witness to the exposure of stalks and leaves alike;
A veteran of the unwanted embrace and, indeed,
The wanton thieving of petals and memories and silence and voice
Combined.
She is swaying but explicitly not
Bending to the wind.
She stands her ground, and
She has blossomed.

white daisies
dancing in the wind
Alaska

If you were a blade of grass,
which blade would you be?
How long does a blade of grass last
before dreaming of being a daisy?

Grass is stationary,
it's still and it's lazy.
He needs to stand up
if he wants to be a daisy.

Daisies are fickle
and die for half the year.
Grass is patient and constant and free.
I'm leaving for the fields
to find a blade for me.