Wildflower Monologue

Wildflower

There’s wildness within my core, it scares me, the unravelling of scars.
Femininity of my being, a long-forgotten feeling; I’m powerful, perhaps dangerous?
I want to be like summer’s breeze, I’m working on things, planting seeds.
I try to be patient . . . but damn, my emotions run deep, so many feelings, all in a frenzy.
I want what I want, forgive me for demanding.
I shake with anticipation; you play inside my mind, my body’s left waiting.
Exotic, chaotic, sensual desires ooze from my thoughts . . . maybe I’m thinking too much, forgive me of my doubts, but please know this: don’t ever fashion me into a rose, I don’t care to be one.

I’d rather have a prickly spine, be the hitchhiker or the bulrush that clings to your thigh; annoying, yet you love the way I hold tight to that which helps me move and grow . . . loyalty.
. . I am no rose, though I can be your sweet elixir, honeysuckle tea, I’m a healer to us and to others; sure, a rose is classic, beautiful, and precious, but I want to be different.

I’d rather be the pussy willows and cattails in the marsh, grungy and cold in the wake of spring; how lovely I’d be, blanketed in insect’s wings, buzzing and fluttering around my greenery, bending my stems; bugs and birds, like fairy friends, they’re nature’s angels, they know the songs of my inner child’s heart—you will, too, if you closely listen. . . . I know you’ve been watching, learning of me, from a distance.
I respect and honour all spaces between us . . . though I make mistakes. Forgive me when I test your patience; my wants and needs, rushing things, sometimes I’m selfish, lose sight, forgetful of your perspectives . . . I’m still learning of myself, trying to fix my issues . . . a dandelion, I’m persistent, I blow unto you my wanton wishes. . .