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.
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.
Asking no permission to be wild.
A fuck yes to life.
Not mine. Not yours. Never to be owned.
Belonging only to her Mother and herself.
A celebration of unboundedness.
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.