You don't always
Have to be
A wildflower; soft and gentle,
Delicately positioned
On your twisting twine,
Bringing a wild sort
Of beauty to it.
You don't always
Have to be
A wildflower, soft and gentle,
Blushing in the many hues
Of pale pink, and powder blue, and periwinkle;
Blushing in the many hues
Of innocence.
Sometimes,
It is alright
To be a rose;
Beauty and pain growing together,
On a single stem.
Sometimes,
It is alright
To be a rose,
To be barbed, and have thorns,
For the preservation
Of the sacred nature
Of the bud,
To nurture it,
To allow it to bloom,
To keep it
From being plucked.
Other times,
It may be
That you are
A butterwort;
Beautiful, seemingly harmless,
But fierce.
It may be
That you must
Forego the dependency and fragility
That so often comes
Hand in hand with
Charm and appeal.
It may be
That you must
Fend for yourself,
And make up,
By your own abilities,
What is deficit
In your environment.
