~every flower must grow through dirt to bloom~
Petals Of
I should’ve known I was adopted.
My Mother looked nothing like me, while she had a southern accent and green eyes, mine were soil brown.
She was always wearing overalls and a straw hat, with a cigarette at hand.
My Dad was big and husky, with poky hairs growing out on his beard and dark blue eyes.
He was always in these ugly pants and a button shirt every day.
It all makes sense.
‘’Lilly, please...we were going to wait to tell you until you were much older,’’ ‘Mom’ reached for me.
I ripped away, my hand trembling.
‘Dad’ was standing in the corner, the cup of coffee he was gripping shaking.
I cut him off with a glare, tears edging their way into my vision.
‘’Like that’s any better. Why don’t you just lie to me your whole lives?’’
Emotion choked my tight throat.
I let out an angry sob and started for the door, and slammed it shut, my lower lip shaking.
I pushed off on my boots and brushed a strand of brown hair from my face.
Tears bit my cheeks as I ran towards the garden, my fingers weaving into the dirt.
It hurt as I passed the roots and twigs that angrily nabbed my thumb.
I ripped up the closest flower I could find and brought it close to my chest, still crying.
Everything was swirling around, but the soft scent of herb calmed me.
I took in a deep breath, and leaned back, using the dirt as leverage as I laid back.
The sun bathed my face as I cried silently, dirt and my tears mingling.
‘’I should have known,’’ I whispered, my heart skipping a beat.
That’s why there were no photographs of us at birth.
Or why Mom always seemed to cut me off when I started on Family Trees for school.
I was abandoned by someone who didn’t have the heart to keep me.
I wasn’t wanted.
A sharp whiff of mint passed my nose and I brushed more hair from my wet neck.
It must be so easy to be a flower.
All you had to do was stand there and just survive through any storm.
In the end, there was always sun.
I mean, sure sometimes it would be tough, but flowers were built to survive that.
Humans, specifically sixteen year old girls, were not.
It just hurt more, knowing that I was thrown away as a small baby, all innocent.
Mom and Dad were people I didn’t know.
Our blood wasn’t related at all. It wasn’t mixed into streams of love, just pride.
But what hurt most of all was that they hadn’t told me.
All this time.
Ticking down until my last breath and each year, it was another time of lies. It hurt.
It felt like small knives protruding deep into my veins and coming out again.
I wanted to stop thinking.I had to cut off the thoughts, but they were streaming through and just couldn’t stop.
So I laid there on the dark soil, my head cocked to the left as I stared at the flower.
The petals caught in the wind right as I let out another sob.
Rooted into the ground as another unwanted seed.
I should have known.
It must be nice to be a flower.
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