All I wanted was to be handpicked,
Chosen and special. Chosen by him.
So grew to the field, away from home.
Perked my petals, blushed my leaves, got skinny.
I was picked, by him, but I was so fixated,
Fixated on being that pretty little flower
For him. I didn’t realise my stem got yellow
Or my roots became short, snappy, irritated.
He picked me. It was so easy, I made it easy.
I made myself a weedy, common daisy.
Let him tear my roots, bend my stem,
twist my leaves, pull and pick at my petals.
All for him to drop me. Leaving my soul to wilt.
For the other Spiders to peel, Crickets to creep,
and Bugs to grate all over me. Because now they think I’m cheap.
My roots have already ruined, so my name has spilt.