An ode to you who has ever been compared to a flower

When he compares you to a flower,
he sees you tender and graceful
against his summer breeze,
he sees you alive and dancing
in his soft embrace.
But you,
you do not need the wind
to feel alive
nor seasons to bloom;
you are not petals or stems
or metaphors,
you are not a tamed thing
to sit pretty in glass vase sanctuaries
that come crashing
when the breeze becomes a winter storm which escapes
through broken window panes,
and appearances.
If he seeks beauty in fragility,
he is not for you, my love,
for you are not to be plucked
and promised a forever
only to watch yourself wilting
and scattered wherever
the breeze blows.

So when he compares you to a flower,
ask him if you are red like strength
or blue like the skies
that are impenetrable
or orange like the fire that is your soul.
Ask him what you smell like most,
ambition, bravery or power?
Ask him to beware of the thorns,
ask him to remember that your roots run deep
and you will be born again
no matter the season.

When he compares you to a flower
always know that you are beautiful, yes,
but not just pretty
know that you are human and magic
and a beautiful wild thing that belongs
to no one.
So grow! Grow and never stop
because when he compares you to a flower
know that you are so much more.
Know that
you are.


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