An ugly green bud.
Closed off to the world.
No one can see in,
and it can’t see out.
As the seasons changed, it changed with them.
One by one, petals sprouted.
The dashing canary yellow of the new addition lured them in.
It looked like every other flower didn’t it?
It had a pollen filled center,
and a stem with rigid leaves.
So it was a flower,
and it lived its life as one.
For the feeble-minded, it was perfect.
It was unique in its own ways, sure, but it was just like every other flower,
and that was okay with everyone else.
But as you spend more time in that godforsaken field,
more time plucking it’s petals out
One
By
One,
more time seeing that “flower” for what it truly is,
you’ll see that everything is not as it seems.
You’ll know why the flower never lets anyone get too close,
and never lets anyone stay for long.
It will close back up,
and when it reopens
it will simply be a thought you once had.
As it is blown away in the wind,
you’ll see small traces of its presence left behind,
traces of what it once was.
Of what it could have been.
But you will not thank it,
No.
For it is not truly a flower,
but only a ****.
