Weeping Fig

Some days I think I'm roses
Even occasionally a dandelion
And I ingest the same miracle-gro as the other flowers
Sip the same running-the-mill water too
I spend almost the same amount of time in the sun and my leaves barely get singed or crinkle 
But then I remember how it took me
Nearly forty minutes
To pluck a backpack off the rack at a Tj Max last week
Because the textures
Ya know 
Every time my tendrils so much as brushed the nylon-canvas mix I dried and wilted and lost petals and shed pollen
And crouched in the aisle holding leafy stalks over my mouth and leaking nectar tears
And that's when I remember
I'm a weeping fig
And I need fancy fertilizer and high nutrient plant food
That costs a bulb and a seed for the gardeners I love too much to supply
And I can only be in the sun for a few select moments a day or I crack and collapse 
And you must spend hours and money and attention to revive me
And I separate myself because I'm so much more prone to getting blights
But my blooms are beautiful
When I do bloom
My blooms are beautiful