POEM: The Flower by the Wall

The Flower by The Wall
By Angel Kermah 

Did I tell you I wanted to be plucked?
I loved the way the wind would whistle amongst my thorns
The way She danced in curling wisps , double-helixing up and through my stem
Leaving nippy, vanishing kisses
How She whooshed, leaving secrets in my thistles 

Did I tell you I wanted to be touched?
This is my only home. 
My body. 
I explore only through my roots
My delicate extensions in the soil
If you listen you may hear a faint patter, as my limbs peruse the earth

I grow in pain but nonetheless. 

But you plucked me. 
You engirdled your befouled, calloused hands around me. 
You bled on my thorns.
You made me drink it.
You uprooted me. 

Am I still a beautiful flower?
I wither. 

How dare you turn my soil into dirt?
How dare you turn my home into a memory?
How dare you have your way with me?

I wither. 

I bend but I don’t break.

Maybe if I sway I may feel the kisses the sun once gave me so freely -
Maybe if I stretch, my toes won’t feel the chilling glass of your vase. 

My roots don’t extend any longer. 
I just sit, pretty in the corner. 
A beautiful flower by the wall.