Wild Flower

She was a wild flower

Meant to be free

Out in the wild

That’s where she should be.

But you held her captive,

Refused to let her go,

Flattened between the pages of a book

Where she’d never be able to grow.

She was your prized possession,

You thought,

That no one could ever see,

She belonged to you and there was nowhere else she’d rather be,

But what you didn’t realise was that 

She’s a wild flower

And she’s meant to be free.

Captivated within the four walls of your home

Is where she “ought” to be,

She’d never again see the light of the day,

Never again would she feel the buzz of the bees,

“But that’s okay,” you thought,

“because she’s my pretty flower and she’ll always be with me.”

She’d never sway again, with the lightly flowing breeze,

She’d never be amongst a hundred other flowers,

Scattered in scenic fields.

She’d remain isolated

But, “at least she’d be with me,”

You thought so selfishly

But what never occurred to you was that

To “be” at all, she had to be set free.

Slowly she faded,

You watched her disintegrate

And rage-filled you up because,

“She’s my pretty flower,

How dare she leave me?”

But what you never did realise was that

She’s a wild flower

And she’s meant to be free.

Every time she lost a petal,

Everyday she faded a little,

She was just this close,

This close to going back where she belonged.

She was this close to being free

And this is where she would always be,

Even after being picked,

Even after being stomped on,

Even after being chopped down

And even after wilting away,

She would always come back to the wild

Because the wild was her home.

She was a wild flower

And she was meant to be free.