By: Olivia Reyna
Two Seeds
Two seeds lay in the soil
one of a Buttercup
And another of a pink Azalea
Both growing and grasping to be complete
The Buttercup wants to be the best
Its ancestors were strong and were never wavering for less
The Buttercup wanted to be just like them
The Buttercup wanted to consume a lot of water so it would be the strongest and most powerful
It had plenty of water
But that wasn't enough
It needed more
So anytime it felt a root around it
It would the tear the roots out
Break them, and terrorize them
Making sure nothing but itself would get water so it would be the strongest
The Azalea was quite different
The Azalea wanted to be humble
It's ancestors always tried to give back, and be complete in knowing that the flowers around it were strong and bright
So the Azalea tried to be small, and grabbing only the water it needed
Anytime the Azalea saw another root, it would try and become even smaller
Both the Buttercup and pink Azalea now have their stems
They are now trying to have strong buds
The Buttercup has a strong desire
It can't overcome it so when the sun comes out
it has to be the tallest and it has to be the only one that the sun can see
If there was another flower beside, it can't help but break it's stem
The Azalea on the other hand can't help but cower
Even if there are no flowers beside it
It acts like it has a hunch back
The Buttercup now is in full bloom
It now is believed to be the best
It believes that it truly is the most fragrant and magnificent until one night
The moon was truly glowing
And unfortunately the Buttercup saw a flower that looked so delicate yet so beautiful
It couldn't help but but be jealous and infuriated
When it went closer to the pink Azalea, the pink Azalea thought it saw something so sturdy and bewitching
The Azalea wanted nothing more than to be friends with such a lovely flower
The Buttercup didn't have such thoughts
When the sun came up at once, the pink Azalea thought to give a piece of its pedal as a gift
But when it gave it to the Buttercup , it ripped up the pedal at once
The Azalea was heart broken
So the Azalea went next to river to think
Maybe the Buttercup wasn't in a great mood
Maybe the Azalea was too pushy
So the Azalea thought to give the Buttercup some space
As night came the Buttercup was upset
How can something be beautiful but weak
The Buttercup thought that the Azalea was weak for showing such giving
The Buttercup decided to go to the river
When it saw the Azalea it didn't know what to do
But before the Buttercup could do anything the Azalea asked
"Do you want to lay near the river?"
Then the Buttercup said
"I will lay, if I want"
The Buttercup would come days after that
Laying right near the azalea
When the Azalea seemed to be so delicate, all of the Buttercup s impure intentions seemed to go away
It would seem to be a good match
Because the Azalea would try to be as small as possible, and the Buttercup would try to spread its roots to be as big as possible
The mood seemed to have turned bright until one night
one night, there came a disease
No one knew how it came but it came and it was strong
While the Buttercup was fine, the Azalea was everything but
While the Azalea always tried to be small in consideration of other flowers, and always trying to be humble
Its roots started to grasp for more water
So its roots started to spread a little farther
There was enough water
But the Buttercup couldn't handle it
The needing to be the one in power, and the needing to be the best was too great
The Azalea gave the Buttercup another piece of its pedal but this time it was extremely fragile and seemed very withered
While the Azalea didn't know anything, the Azalea seemed to be forgiving
If the Buttercup cup wanted to anything,it needed to do it now
The Buttercup broke the Azalea's stem
Everything bright and delicate seemed to be done in this lifetime
The Buttercup didn't falter
It stood upright as if it did no wrong
As if it didn't take the light from the world
As the next day came, the Buttercup treated it like the day before was never there
Another Quiver
The push in your voice
You screaming in pain but keep the words flowing
It takes everything in me to not scream “Stop”
Because I can't take it no more
If I hear another quiver
No amount drains would be able to contain
The streams that would thrash
And the seas that would cry from
The influx of rips and shreds
From its very foundation
That was meant to never waver
Only able to silence the ripples
By knowing it would only make more quivers and lasting cinders
Life blooms daffodils and sparks the pedals into the morning sun, cultivates the chirps of soft spoken parakeets, soothes the summer with splashes swimming through the land
But even more, life is full of spontaneity
Even if you ask for it or not
It could cool your wounds or just completely grab the tiniest needle and start peeling back up your scabs
That were finally a nice pale pink
No sight of what is you or the dirt we step on
What is life built out of?
Is it greatness, or just complex breathing?
“We think, therefore we are”
Or do we just simply think too much, and create meaning out of the leaves that spin out of cycle, the stars that happen to perfectly align, the numbers that just seem bound to be around
They don't mean anything of importance, but beings are so insecure, and live with a paradox of choices
That nothing suddenly has to mean something in your world of just complex inhaling
I can hardly see the morning dew, the deers galloping, the fish skipping, the stems inching, or the leaves swaying
Because all I hear is life grasping for oxygen that will never meet
What is there to see, when beauty is whimpering, clawing, raking, and woefully hoping?
The bloom never came
It never seized its sight
Not even a breath
And too many quivers
To be
Is our eyes of the same cloth
Do our stars make constellations
Can our sediments make rocks
If our twigs yearn to be
Will there be branches?
Thousands of leaves
With thousands of thoughts
Will one even wither for …
Wither for me?
If not, let me be
Not of resemblance
Of the moon that laces light with the sun
Or
The nodes that fade into ashes for the stout stem
Let me be
Of the essence of a phoenix
A phoenix without its redemption
A phoenix with an end