She listens to the stark voice break the silence
“Pardon me sir, but our flower is broken.
We overflow her pot with water and sit her in the sunlight.
She is beautiful, you know,
admirably attractive.
but she is always sulking”

her roots swell and her stem bleeds tears.
life is given to her!
handed to her! with sanitized, manicured hands!
and she sits so pretty,
so so pretty
upon that cold countertop
in a house where warmth
is made by metal vents
and she is admired every day

“How do you think the weeds feel
when a beautiful flower hangs it’s head?!”
she knows, she knows
but she still looks longingly at the weeds
whose feet aren’t stuffed into pots
and whose dreams aren’t stopped at ceiling fans
Can you really blame me for her for a heavy head
when her roots have nowhere to run?