I was meant to bloom—
unfurl, sing, and shine, not
be tended or trimmed, not
molded for duty and possession.
I was meant to bloom, not
decorate an entropic cave, not
drizzle in vain someone’s emptiness
with the sweetness of my effervescent petals—
infusing their spoiled, sour strands.
Even in the drought,
I drank rainbows through my veins.
My tendrils breathed warmth into soil,
while the sky hid behind clumped clouds.
I stretched toward muffled sunlight.
I was meant to bloom.
And then it rained, not
to nourish or cleanse.
Poured.
Unstoppable—
the ground swelled,
my petals sagged,
roots dislodged,
my garden drenched to swamp.
Yet I stand, sturdy but hollow.
They nest in my shade,
leech my youth,
and — call it love.
Slowly,
quietly,
I sink.
Still—
Dreaming of butterflies,
even a wilt can reach the sun.
Single ray ignites its desire.
Butterflies will come
And I will bloom…
as I was always meant to.
© 2025 WolverineLily 🌺
Author’s Note:
Not everyone who stands tall is thriving.
Not every flower is there for you to pick.
For every time you bloomed in silence, offered too much, or were mistaken…
This one is personal. 🌸
Wolverine Lily 
I admire this poem for its ability to say so much in a small area, but duh, I guess that’s posey:)
The hard right hook for me is: “I was meant to bloom, not decorate an entropic cave” I sincerely hope that you’re yet drinking those “rainbows through” your “veins.” Oh, and kudos for some of those extended sentences. Nice!
I volunteer to be a butterfly.
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