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Wildflower



She was a wildflower,
The world didn't spare her a fleeting glance
True, she was not exquisite.
She lay beneath tall flowers blooming her own way.
She was wild yet not fierce,
She dazzled in her own skin,
She wasn't a pleasant memory to behold
No one bothered to make her one.
She was frail yet bold.,
The world missed her light.
Yet, she loved the world with all her might.
She knew not what it took to hate.
She was a wildflower,
And she bloomed like no one else.


And yet came a breeze
She danced in her wilderness
Her flimsy petals started to breathe.
She found no place in garlands
Nor in hearts.
The breeze shook her core,
She turned back to where she stood.
Back to being a wildflower
Coy in her own skin.
Bloom, she did,
For she knew, she was a wildflower,
And it meant she would bloom like no one else. .


As the poem runs, I wonder:
Was she a curse or a blessing in disguise?

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