even the flowers die eventually.
My flowers aren’t dead
Though their petals are wilted
And what used to be pinks and yellows and blues is now grays and blacks and browns
They are still alive
Even if they no longer fill the room with a sweet scent
Or their stems are crumbling underneath them
Don’t tell me they’re dead
Because they’re not.
I put in so much work for them
I watered them, even when it was difficult to just get out of bed
I turned them towards the sun, because I read that sunshine made them thrive
I went and bought the right soil, so rich and dark
How can you say that they’re dead
Look at them, look at their circumstances
My flowers are fine.
Their pots aren’t broken, the ceramic is intact
The water is clear and pure
The sunshine reaches them even on rainy days
What more do they want from me
What can make them stand up straight
What can make their petals bloom like they were supposed to
I tried everything, followed all the directions
But my flowers aren’t fine
My flowers have died
A shift in the wind, a pause outside the window
My flowers have died.