I Close My Bud

LIVING SMALL | On the fear of being seen for who we really are, and not being accepted. On the fear of someone changing us. On the fear of changing ourselves for another person.


my fear?
that you will change me

no, you’re right
that I will change myself in your presence
become something i’ve lost control of
in the worst of ways
and in doing so, wither and die

yes control, that’s what i’m craving
disguised as freedom and easy-goingness
autonomy and independence
but what it comes down to in the end, is control
the power of being exactly. precisely. me.
and i don’t trust myself to be strong enough to stay still in your storm
it’s as simple as that

so instead of trust I choose avoidance
a safer option
here, by myself, hidden, i can stay in control
it’s the closest thing to an escape route
it’s running without running
just as efficient, just not as uprooting

some people are trees, and sometimes I envy them
their roots are deep in the ground
storms may shake their crowns, but they stand firm, rather unchangeable

i’m not a tree

i’m a flower

a beautiful proud flower by the side of the road
and people who notice me stop to admire
and i freeze in fear and close my bud
hoping hoping hoping they will walk on, that they will not bend down and pick me
bring me home and put me in a vase and tell me who I am!

why?

isn’t that a flower’s destiny, too?
to inspire
to shine and be admired?
why am I judging that path?

most flowers shine in anonymity, hidden on a field for no one to see
some flowers are raised to be admired, bred for inspiration, products of the flower entertainment industry
with a clear path, a set destiny
a label, a vase, a place on a table or a window sill

and then again some flowers simply happen to be born by the side of a road
with a POSSIBILITY to be seen
a choice to shine at the risk of being noticed, picked and altered
or to close their buds when someone approaches to ensure that at least when no one is watching, they can be exactly. who. they. are.

my fear?
that you would change me

but maybe you would simply pick me with love, carefully carry me home, remove those broken blades to bring out my uttermost beauty, put me somewhere where you can always see me, and let me fill you with joy, presence, gratitude, love

maybe that’s what you would do
if I didn’t close my bud by the mere sound of your footsteps…

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