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.

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.


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.  

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