Wildflowers in This Breeze

All skin

Is made up of the same cells,

All eyes

Reflect the same stars,

All lips

Dance around the same meaning,

And even if they don’t work,

All hearts

Are connected by the same strings;

We all stand

Beneath the same golden sun,

And just like each

Perfect little

Imperfect wildflower,

We are different:

Our petals curl at various angles,

Tinted distinct shades,

But still with the same goal

Of reaching up to the light

And making something meaningful;

We sway in this breeze

We call society,

Only some of us bending

The way we say is “right,”

Only some of us getting the chance

To be picked up by this current,

Our seeds carried to other places

Where maybe the soil is more fertile,

But fertile in the way

That only one type of wildflower

Grows;

Within each painted iris

The world has hand-drawn,

There is the same sparkle

Of the sun,

Of reaching up,

Of curling in the way

That we find feels right;

And I bet

That sparkle would grow

If all the meaning danced around

Was meaning of love,

Delicate enough to sprinkle dewdrops

On each tiny blossom,

Strong enough

To shatter this idea of “right”

Whispered in this breeze.