If I were a flower would you pick me?

I thought this today –

I thought, maybe,

Maybe if I was that beautiful,

Or that precious,

That delicate,

That vulnerable,

That person.

Would that have made the difference

or would everything still be the same?

I’ve lost count of how much time has past –

That’s a lie –

I still know –

I always will –

Isn’t that sad?

Isn’t that a pitiful existence?

A half-life

An eternal cloud, a mist, a fog

there today, for always, forever.

Do you know how long I’ve wished for a different day?

A day when I’d wake up

As if it were all a bad dream.

If only life were that easy.

No,

Day’s continue to pass

Day’s when I hate you for what you’ve done,

When I hate you for what you do

And when I hate you for what you’ll never do.

So here we are –

I’ve waved the olive branch

And I haven’t heard a thing.

You remain shut.

Am I to blame?

Yes, I pushed

Yes, I pulled

But behind the thorny exterior

was something deeply rooted.

So I ask again –

If I were a flower would you pick me?

Or would nothing change at all?