I can’t imagine being gently placed in a home,
being cared for, given the nutrients I need to survive,
and yet, despite the best intentions of my caretakers,
my roots are trapped.
they’ve filled my pot, now
suffocating each other.
I need to expand.
They are afraid to put me outside-
the dangers of the wilderness.
What they don’t understand
is that’s where I thrive.
Exposure isn’t always a bad thing.
I only wish there was a way they could keep my roots
in this pot I call home,
while I stretch my stem toward the sun
But when they dig me out,
they’ll leave them attached
so that wherever I go in this world
I will have a little piece of home,
of the happiness that will be missed so dearly.
Maybe some squirrel will make a snack of my petals,
or a strong gust will snap my little stem,
or maybe the snow will drift across my delicate leaves,
chilling me to death.
But free death
is always better
than imprisoned life.