- No products in the cart.
I'm bright like the sunshine, and frivolous like the wind
I prefer my head held high but I know that can only happen when I'm grounded.
I don't have the perfection of the rose,
Or the smell of lavenders,
Or the texture of the lilies,
Or the admiration of carnations.
Kids look at me like I'm work of nature's art. I'm not.
I am the flower that a 4 year old draws on his sheet.
Crooked, imperfect, anything not art.
I am the flower that gets thrown out of the bouquets.
I have petals that do not match with each other
and smell that doesn't attract the butterflies
My stem doesn't carry my weight so well
And the leaves are shorter to make my appearance more disproportionate.
Sometimes I feel the leaves should grow bigger
And my stems smaller
And my petals should fade away.
And my size shrink and shrink
And shrink.
Till I vanish.
Till my color doesn't attract mothers who bring their kids to me to tell them how pretty I am.
Till my stem thrusts me into the ground so that photographers cannot find me.
Because even though I know I'm bright like the sunshine and frivolous like the wind and like my head held high,
In the world of roses and lavenders and lilies and carnations,
how can I be perfect.
- Vidushi Dobhal
