Wildflower

You, exquisite beauty.

Vulnerable, but not fragile.  Mostly just fierce.

Fierce in your light.  Bold in your colors.  

Strong in storms.

Serene in bluebird skies.

Grace.

Gracing the Earth for such a sweet, short time.

Everlasting in our souls.

Blessing us with courage to face the dark.

Columbines, paintbrushes, larkspurs, wallflowers, fireweeds, and sunflowers.

Saying your many names is like speaking to a goddess.  

Trying to tame you would only dampen the awe you create.  

Beauty that only grows in open spaces.

Set free. 

Asking no permission to be wild.  

A teacher.

A gift.

A fuck yes to life.

Not mine.  Not yours. Never to be owned. 

Belonging only to her Mother and herself.

A celebration of unboundedness.

Wildflower.  

As I was writing this poem (over a period of a few days), one thing I was evoked to think about was how my parents never told me how I had to live my life.  Sure, I always felt the societal pressure, especially in the midwest, to work a lot, get married, and raise a family.  And while perhaps my parents never said that to me simply because we’re “midwestern nice” (aka passive-and-sometimes-aggressive, insert eye roll here), they never told me what I had to do.  When I go back to Ohio now, I never get asked “Did you meet someone yet?”, “Don’t you want kids?”, “When are you going to…xyz.”  I know a lot of people do have that constant pressure from their families, a pressure that is very much inconsistent with their own values.  Now my dad just asks me “Are you happy?”  There were certainly many struggles that led me to becoming a strong and resilient wildflower, but I feel blessed knowing that my parents have resolved to leave me untamed.