A Wild Flower.
Loud, boisterous, colorful, and sticking out like a sore thumb.
I am different from the Proper Lilies, who are plain, boring, and oh so quiet.
I long to play, dance, and bask in the morning sun.
I will be single for the rest of my life.
No man would want a Wild Flower for a wife.
Cold days and lonely nights will be my plight.
Live is bitter painfully hopeless, like a festering wound from a serrated knife.
Written by: Inanna Roxanna Arnett