Love Me, Love Me Not

I’m a wildflower;

the rarest one among

pretty, perfect ones.

I spend years in this field,

watching as others are picked,

and I remain rooted here.

I want to cry out,

“Pick me! Don’t you see me here?”

but then I remember what I’ve seen.

I don’t want to be

torn apart for another who

only wants to make wishes.

So, I stay rooted in loving soil

and wait for gentle hands

to choose the wildflower.

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