Flower

Everything will fade like grass,

everything flourishes then dries like flowers on fields.

Watering the flowers that are already watered by others,

staring at grass, that’s already been taken care of.

Trying too hard,

and justifying with mum’s advice that I should be more open.

But I hate it.

I’m trying too hard,

I hate the me trying too  hard.

It’s like then why wasn’t I like that when I was born?

Why be so unskilled  you feel like an antisocial log sitting among those that actually matter.

I hate partying,

I hate alcohol,

I hate songs that talk about nothing but exploitation

I hate going with the flow

of nastiness

face lying

insides cringing,

reflection staring back at me violated.

Exhausted,

but it should be my fault,

for not being open enough,

or social enough,

or being too dry.

How do you solve fumes

that make you suffocate

like a car in front of you emitting carbon monoxide,

too fast to overtake,

but you can’t fall behind or else

you’ll be labelled a stranger.

I’m so tired,

I’m exhausted,

I want to be the person I’m supposed to be.

I want to be grounded again,

I want to be anchored.

I want to get back to where it all starts.

I want to return

to things that won’t wither

things that won’t fade

things like Isaiah 43

and promises and streams of water in the wilderness.

If I’m a flower that flourishes for a second in the field,

would I have flourished right?

or would I have gloried in pretentiousness and hypocrisy?

If I’m a blade of grass in the field that breathes today

and withers tomorrow,

would I be okay with living that fraction of a second a lie?

To prioritize what’s important and what’s not in my life

it’s long overdue,

but I’ll start today.

Stop the lies

destroy the facades,

and don’t let yourself be blown by the wind.

Stand,

and forget,

and be

the potential and capabilities

you were meant to be.

Continue your journey

towards dying empty.

Even when it feels like

no one is there,

or no one cares,

continue building that platform

because one day it will all come true.

The promises, the dreams,

the goals.

To be multilingual,

to write better,

to speak better,

to see clearly,

to discern more.

To be everything you dreamed

and much much more.

Be the flower you’ll be proud of,

and make your one second on this earth worth it

by living your truest,

authentic

self.

So when you die,

well,

you can fulfill what you planned since you were fourteen;

to have lived to the fullest,

so you wither as a flower,

empty and fulfilled.

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