Marigold's Garden

Orchids

     I've always been pretty.

I mean that in the most humble way as possible. Life was merciful with me when it came it looks , beautiful from birth, every elementary school pictures looked as it came from a Maci's  back to school catalog no whop sided piggy tales or gapped tooth caught in a picture they always seem to grow back at the right time.

         Middle school was easy while girls picked at their face and got scammed by Proactive my face was as smooth as butter, I missed out on  stuffing  bras with tissue by seventh grade  I was already in a C cup. Never needed braces or experienced the teasing of being called "Four eyes" or "brace face."  And
even though like all girls did, I founded flaws in my physique, I can't deny that it wasn't a staple for beautiful standers, one that by high school had guys drowning  striking 5'10 long legs that stood out in mini shirts, toned stomach from years of competitive cheer and tumbling and breast that kept Victoria's Secret's.

      All and All I was a natural "beauty" and being ugly seem to take more effort.

For the past few months I found self trying to be.... Unrecognizable. Because Marigold looked too much like Mom.

   I didn't deserve her beauty.
So I stopped being beautiful.
   I wore the same pajamas for days.
Left the chip paint on my fingers nails for weeks.
And most importantly.
I didn't do my hair.

I could of just cut it I guess, truly had a metamorphosis and shaved my head rocking a  buzzcut.

But that just seemed like starting over.
   I didn't want to move on.

 
    The best way to change, was to not try.
And for me that was what I was doing. I was neglecting the old Marigold who dressed in dresses and styled her Golden hair with curls in French braids.

  To disconnect myself from her, I needed to look completely opposite.

And to me that meant being a slob.

   We'll until recent events.

It was pink.

  My hair was pink, a short waved bob that gave it a edge.

Marigold wasn't edgy

But Mari was.

It was eye opener.  I had been on this identity crisis of trying to re define myself believing that opposite of being preppy and poised Marigold was neglecting self care, when really it longer had to be.

With this new look, I realized that wearing my dads old clothes didn't benefit this new transformation. I needed complete rebirth.

      So after hours of raiding my clothes and ripping my drawers clean of past wardrobe, I placed them in trash bags and in Bella's red wagon connecting it to my bike. I wouldn't say I went unnoticed to my surprise Dad and Mags stood around watching me cooly sipping coffee since it was in fact 7am. In there pajamas they watched as struggled carrying bags down the stairs as if I was the Grinch that stole Christmas. All of them curious yet, I could the corner of there lips curved into a smile. They hadn't seen me move so fast in long time, it was the same expression they had when they watched my fight weeds in Moms garden, despite my struggle, they were satisfied by the determination and purposefulness, and even though I cut off twenty inches of hair, was now sporting a vibrating pink bob and demolishing my closet, what most would consider a mid life crisis and angsty phase face, Mags and Dad saw different.

They saw a metamorphosis.

Because to them, anything was better than before.

" Heading to the flower shop!" I called out as I headed out the door.