There is something to be said about shining on your own, in a space that is not your own:
Bright. Shining brightly, being bright, brightness is difficult to measure. When you’re sitting in a dim room, with outdated furniture, a vending machine with suspiciously low prices and 15 other women who have their own agendas and searching the room with frantic eyes for a friendly face. In moments like this your brightness may feel muffled. But always remember that when the sun sets behind a cloud, it casts an even more brilliant array of colors further, for the world to adore.
What I am
My name is a flower. I was named after the bright orange, yellow and pink blooms that rise from the ground to spread joy in the spring, a time of rebirth.
I spread my seeds with every laugh I breathe out and word that curls off my tongue. Yes, I sow my wealth of happiness wherever I may. But the world is not always kind to a flower.
I am picked, stomped on and cut through. I am used to give for love and then thrown out when I grow old. For flowers are delicate and I am no different.
Yes, my name is a flower, oh what a name to have.
A different species, a similar soul
I heard it deep in my soul as the bird hit the window with the force of God’s fist. He sat there in shock and pain after he realized his path he was traveling has been nothing more than an illusion, a reflection of his past. The little song bird kept calm as I lifted him into my palms and close to my heart. He only took flight when he heard the sweet melody of his other half calling for his return. No amount of lift or encouragement I gave him helped until he knew he was needed, missed, longed for by another of his kind.
If only we weren’t so similar.