As you progress through life and spend your days lustfully longing at the life of the strong and steady sunflower you come to realize that you - the clean and quiet wallflower, crawling around the corners - will always dull in comparison to the shining petals of a rare seasonal plant.

You will never know for certain if this is just the way things are - for you receive fleeting moments of worth when you are watered. You will never know for certain if the water truly loved you, if the rain that rejuvenated your purple skin and awakened you even in the most hidden of places really ever cared.

You will never know for certain if the water truly wanted you to blossom, or if the water was just lightly sprinkling you with enough life so that, when the spring came again, you could resume your dutiful place as the backdrop against which the sunflowers shine.

Nobody doubts that all flowers are beautiful, but nobody regards all flowers as equal. You will never be a sunflower, for that is just not the type of seed that you are. Whilst there is nothing outwardly wrong with not being a sunflower, their warm open leaves and their throne in the centre of the flowerbed seem to leave little room or sunlight for others to flourish.

You don't doubt that the water would miss you terribly if you disappeared into the ground, but you spend your shaded days wondering whether this is because you truly are important, or because their sunflower would not look so regal were it not for your purple misfortune.

As all the purple plants disappeared last winter, as the first frost drained their final ounces of water induced hope, I felt my heart dip in the knowledge that they'd be back again in spring, valiantly pushing themselves from the deep dark soil in vain and desperate hope. I chewed my lip on the thought that their frugal and consistent efforts would never be appreciated, for no matter how long they deigned to stay in the dark, there would never come a spring where they would transform into the sunflower.

And as I turned from the five by four foot flowerbed, I thought about all of the sunflowers I had met in my life, and all of the backdrops I had provided for them. I thought about how sore it was to be the sibling that made the other sibling shine brighter, the student that made the other students seem smarter, the girlfriend that made the other girls seem... yellow.

And I looked at myself, and I thought about how nobody's favourite colour is purple.

January 1st
Grey seas, cloudy skies
Vibrant minds filled with ideas

New Years Day
New dreams, new decisions
Old scars on old worn arms

2015
New lives, newborns
Old age pensioners on an old brown bench

We can move street and town and city
Or move people with the words we write down
We can move mountains and monuments and, more importantly, minds
But we can't ask our past to step down

We can't give up bad habits
Early morning drags, a cold sharp blade
We can't pretend our lungs aren't heavy
Or that those two inch cuts are not man made

We can't escape our roaring past,
Invasive thoughts or helpless cries
Is it because we're not strong enough
Or because we know we've already died?

If people really knew you
They'd know you're cold
And harsh
And hard
And that you never looked me in the eyes, not once

If people really knew you
They'd know you're distant
And harsh
And hard
And that you always have to get what you want, every time

People don't really know you
They think you're kind
And soft
And sweet
And that you're a good person, a friend for when they're in need

I'm the only one who really knows you
That's why you pushed me away
If I don't exist it can't be true
I can't know more about you than you do

I am empty but my insides burn
I am hollow but my mind is filled with ideals of things I'll never be
I am nothing but I am too much to handle

Remember when you thought it was him?

We complain about cold fingers, itchy scarves, a long dark drive
Yet when my breath rises in puffs of grey air on a Monday
I'm reminded that I am alive