Bloom

I would rather cling to the edge of a cliff as an ugly, wiry, weed than be a beautiful rose confined to a pot. They try to unfold your velvet petals with their clumsy, feeble hands, whereas I remain unscathed by any but my own. You will be severed for your beauty, because that’s what they think of love. No greedy hands will find my own. I will stand alone; strong and free. I will see more than brick walls from glass cages; I will see a world of color beneath my roots. Let them sulk in beauty, harnessed by a pot of dirt; for I would sooner wilt on a cliff’s edge gazing out towards an unfathomable beauty, rather than by confined by my own. I will let them be as flowers, going no further, seeing no more. A bud hanging low, amidst buds.