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The Wildflower That I Am

 

I. Yearning

Dear strange soul,
my spirit yearns to speak
from the depths of an epiphany that has rattled me, within...
I’ve had needs that were untended in the past—
needs that were never too much of an ask.

I was taught not to expect life from humankind,
but I expected regardless,
searching for its seeds within strange souls—
alien beings who lived on the fringes of society.
I was drawn to them, probably by the forces of my past.

But they were merely figments of my imagination.
I believed in the treasures hidden within them.
I saw singularity and effervescence, but I was misguided.
They were soul pirates, their vaults filled with cosmic parasites.


II. Fracture

The parasites got under my skin when I opened the vault,
and I was sucked into their whirlpool of darkness and misery.
I cried aloud for the pain gnawing at their spirit—and mine.
But they never listened.
By then, their souls were deaf to the remnants of their own truth.

I looked around and saw none who listened.
None cared, showering me with platitudes instead.
None felt what I felt—
instead, they pretended to know what they never could.
And none had hearts that could receive
the weight and truth of my burden.

This sent me spiraling into grief...
I lost trust in my instincts
to find what my soul needed the most.
I felt I didn’t deserve to be seen.

My needs—
were they a grave crime against the balance of the cosmos?
Was it too much for the eternal
to grant me even a fraction of that which my heart craved?


III. Reckoning

I travelled into the chambers of my heart
to search for truths undeniably mine.
I wanted to see all that I was seeking out,
and I did encounter the resonance of my aching heart.

I once believed I craved attention, validation, admiration—
but silence taught me otherwise.
What I truly needed lived quietly within me,
sacred and unspoken.

Inner peace and harmony,
not empty praises and prose.
The tender touch of a warm soul,
not cruel words and silent wounds.
To be seen for all that I am,
not denied for the nakedness of my soul.
To be content with where I am,
not cycling around all that I could never have.

Tell me I’m wrong.
Tell me I’m weird.
Tell me I’m too much
for having a voice that is clear.
Tell me I can only ever find my necessities
in the world above and not here.

Who can one be in the absence of all these gifts?
What will they turn to? What will they turn into?


IV. Becoming

And all this time, I’ve been hiding—
fearful of the all-encompassing darkness,
the night within me,
and the shadows that lurk at the edge of my light.

But now, I dare to look into the crystal water
to see my form unveiled and naked.
I am sad, but not lost.
I see the persistence of my soul to be whole—
its eagerness to seek out clarity over chaos.
And I respect its nature, its duality and its formidable force.

I must defend my essence
from that which disrupts the life force I harbor.
But I shall not turn my heart into concrete walls.
I see and revere the gift of life even when I’m blue—
a light I never asked for,
granted to me free of cost.

Henceforth, I adore the wonders of existence and experience.
I admire the gifts of creation and perception.
I thank each of those strange souls
for becoming mirrors—
inadvertently reflecting back my shadows,
which I could never have seen on my own.

I release them from the shackles I made for them,
and I release myself from the eternity of their grasp—
a prison filled with emptiness, chaos, and madness.
Thereby, I release myself
from the cycles of self-doubt... of self-harm.

It’s about time
to allow my soul to bloom
into the wildflower it was always meant to be.

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