Distortion
A wilted sunflower speaks to me in waves.
We both know what we once were,
Bright. Full. Unprotected from external elements.
Her petals and my mind wither away,
A response to rough hands and sharp edges.
I hold the sunflower with the care and affection I deserve,
Unsure how to mirror it.
My head is conditioned to welcome the frigid wind,
Accepting the eternal winter.
But seasons can exist.
I can do what my flowery friend can not,
Pick myself back up and know while I wilt,
I have the power to bloom in the declaration of distortion.
I am not the sunflower that keeps me company on the piercing grass
That is life.
She is my beautiful reminder.
