Back and forth with the pull of the flowers around you.
Not the same, but not different,
Dancing to the same tune of the wind.
It was a beautiful garden, but it wasn’t enough.
To be put on display and marveled at,
You wanted people to look at you and see something,
That was more than just a flower.
More than just another colourful spot in the garden.
You wanted to be different,
So you built the glass jar.
Suddenly you had something to show for yourself,
Something that was more than yourself.
You had a beautiful shine, you stood out from the crowd,
You didn’t fit in your old garden space.
The soil was too soft, so you wanted a pedestal instead.
And when the witch told you she could give you that pedestal,
You gratefully lept into her hands.
And she plucked you from the garden,
And placed her magical fingers around the glass.
“You will be seen where you stand,
Through the glass in my hand,
You will stay here apart from the rest.
You will please and inspire,
And though some will tire,
Many will think you the best.
And surely, many will jest.
But you live with it now,
Until then forever you nest.”
And with the long hooked nail on her left forefinger,
She etched a name in the glass.
Scratch, scratch, scratch,
And the glass jar caught their attention.
And as each set of eyes lay themselves upon you,
You stretched and grew and bloomed.
You reached for the stars through the ceiling of glass,
So bright you felt like you were one of them.
The glass jar became smaller and smaller,
The curve of the roof seemed to bend your leaves,
The ache in your stem as it hunched over to fit your casing became more prominent each day,
But you didn’t pay attention.
The people were there to see a flower in a glass jar,
And that’s what they did see.
The glass jar became hot.
The sun beat down and its rays stayed with you.
The air began to stifle, and sweat.
The glass fogged, it clouded,
Every breath you took became a stain.
The glass jar became cold.
The rain beat the walls and thundered through your eardrums.
The air began to freeze, and shiver.
The glass frosted, it snowed,
Every tear you shed became an icicle.
You couldn’t see them anymore.
They couldn’t see you and they didn’t want to.
And the flower’s cramped cry could not be perceived through a
When the witch returned many years after,
You reached out for her with weak and colourless petals.
And she tapped on the glass,
And the engraved name began to glow.
“Is this not what you wanted?
You silly little flower,
You realize what it’s meant to be?
Will come from you, not from me.”
Nor would it come from anybody else.
Your beauty lies within it.
And suddenly, those stars aren’t as bright as you.
You reach higher and higher,
Your colour returns with the strength of tree branches!
And in an instant, the glass cracks.
Rise up from the crystal shards,
Their shimmery dust will make you sparkle and glow.
The glass was not meant for anyone to look through,
You are alone in the night but the stars are above you.
You can see them clearly,
You smile, you feel free,
You know who you are, with certainty now,
You are a beautiful flower, and you are enough.
jacobvanloon
dededos
dailybridgerton
theartofmadeline
origamiaround
ellievsbear
romaincrisis
blakekathryn
