Little flower
How did it feel?
When they broke your stem
whispered against your petals
and suffocated you with words
not clear enough to comprehend.
Little flower,
is it cold under the glass?
I wonder if you can remember,
the soil at your roots,
the bees thriving on your pollen,
and the sun surrounding you.
I see the veins in your petals,
do they bleed like mine?
When they cut you and crushed you,
did it snuff out your essence?
Behind your glass,
in your frame,
you'll see more days than I.
Yet I will live more moments
than you ever had the chance to.
About the Creator
Josey Pickering
Autistic, non-binary, queer horror nerd with a lot to say.
Reader insights
Nice work
Very well written. Keep up the good work!
Top insights
Heartfelt and relatable
The story invoked strong personal emotions
Compelling and original writing
Creative use of language & vocab
Easy to read and follow
Well-structured & engaging content
Excellent storytelling
Original narrative & well developed characters
Eye opening
Niche topic & fresh perspectives
Keep reading
More stories from Josey Pickering and writers in Poets and other communities.
She loves me
She loved me. When I was small and my wee stayed to the paper. When I was rumpled skin and floppy big paws and big eyes looking up and waiting for her hands to find me, scooping me up and bringing me into her. And we were happy, so happy, so very, very happy. I was so happy to see her and danced my circles so she'd know how much I wanted nothing more than for her to hold me. I'd wrap, wiggle, wiggle and wrap my growing body with my bestest happy dance, slumping and kerplumping into her warm parts just like she liked me to. She was there and I was there, and we were there together, and it was perfect. Oh, how she loved me! We spent all our time together, playing inside, outside, up, down, going round and round. And she petted me and called me good girl when I made poops, and sometimes when I weed in her front yard or the neighbor's, and I was the best girl. For her, I really was! And she scratched me behind my ears, and it was heaven. I aowooo my joy! And she aowoooed hers too.
By Christy Munson6 days ago in Fiction
Comments (5)
I often think about inanimate things now trapped for their beauty. I hope this flower didn't suffer for our art. I liked your poem very much.
so good thank you for sharing
This so moved me. Lovely poem.
I love this - well done!
Wonderful. 🖤