The Flower by The Wall By Angel Kermah Did I tell you I wanted to be plucked? I loved the way the wind would whistle amongst my thorns The way She danced in curling wisps , double-helixing up and through my stem Leaving nippy, vanishing kisses How She whooshed, leaving secrets in my thistles Did I tell you I wanted to be touched? This is my only home. My body. I explore only through my roots My delicate extensions in the soil If you listen you may hear a faint patter, as my limbs peruse the earth I grow in pain but nonetheless. But you plucked me. You engirdled your befouled, calloused hands around me. You bled on my thorns. You made me drink it. You uprooted me. Am I still a beautiful flower? I wither. How dare you turn my soil into dirt? How dare you turn my home into a memory? How dare you have your way with me? I wither. I bend but I don’t break. Maybe if I sway I may feel the kisses the sun once gave me so freely - Maybe if I stretch, my toes won’t feel the chilling glass of your vase. My roots don’t extend any longer. I just sit, pretty in the corner. A beautiful flower by the wall.
May 9, 2024
The Student Newspaper of Mercer County Community College Since 1968
