I once was a flower

White Orchid at Fred Meijer Gardens, Grand Rapids, MI
I once was a flower

I have lips, so I finally decided to talk. 

I awoke to the world ripe and ready, like a summer strawberry dripping her juices over your fingers as you prepare to eat her. 

I opened, a big peachy pink orchid blossom, looked upon like a florist tenderly caressing my petals and tasting the tenderness of my pale skin. 

My young heart hungered to understand the world so I danced in life’s energy, moved with the vibrational call that tickled me into action. How I ached with desire, laughed with joy, and felt the whole world speak into me.  

I would shag and sway, jig and gyrate, rollick and frolic, romp and pirouette, just for fun, just because I could, and because it felt so good. 

Along the way I was crushed and left in the dark, like a dead bird on a doorstep. In time, someone gently picked me up and tenderly set me on a silky bed, stroking my feathers and whispering sweetly into my wings.  

I opened myself again, like a full moon, radiating my light into the vastness. In the glow, we pressed against each other and swept our way through the seasons, in a polka and a foxtrot, some salsa and tango, and a little ballet.  

One summer season dried me up like a mud puddle on the sidewalk in the afternoon sun, baked to cracking, the lines like varicose veins on someone’s inner thigh. 

Moving across the dance floor hurts my feet now. Sometimes I ponder in a slow waltz to the invitation of the open ballroom, my arms wound around the memories of my glory days.

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