They say now’s supposed to be the time in which we all bloom and show the world who and what we are
Like it’s the spring of our lifetime,
But for two years now I’ve been stuck in winter.
It started when I opened up
And told you that my petals were pink, and you said you think
I was red like the others,
But then I opened myself up and all you did was look away
And say that I was something else
And you told me that I shouldn’t be concerned with my color
In a time when all our hues come into view.
At every stage since germination I’ve made excuses
For what I saw and what I knew.
I thought I was just light red.
For so long, to myself, to everyone, I lied and I cried
About how other flowers could be pink and white,
But not me.
I loved the moon during the longest night.
She and her darkness let me think I was red like the rest,
But then the moon became the sun and I found myself still open.
All the others saw—including you—my color
And you knew other flowers like me
And you still said I was wrong about me.
The Flowers
Nathaniel Cohen