Wild Flower

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Do you remember the sound that wakes you each morning? Is it a little bird by your window, singing and calling to the nature, or the noise of your neighbour’s pounding mortar? Maybe it’s the snoring breath of the person you love coming in short whispers beside you, or the mint smell of talcum powder when your two year old crawls and wraps around you like a second skin. Is it just the alarm clock which you snooze two or three times before you finally manage to open one eye? Do you smile? Does any of it make you happy, or do you just begin another day filled with regret for things that aren’t there. Hope maybe, for things to get better?

Sweetness, that’s what they called me as a child, still what they call me now. I grew up believing it. Maybe I still believe it, just a little. I tried to live up to the name but failed, miserably. But they don’t know this. Only I do. Maybe they did nothing wrong by giving me the name. A sweet child, that I was, beautiful and happy. But beauty and happiness can only last for so long. Imagine yourself walking on a slippery mud floor, one only you can see. You understand the risks and the need for carefulness, but those around you do not because they cannot see it. All they see is someone walking, rather slowly. Maybe too slow for their peace of mind. So they urge, shout and push.

I’ve known pain and aloneness. Those I hide from the world. What wakes me in the morning isn’t a sound. What nudges me awake is a voice, quietly telling me that it’s time to fake it once more. A sound can be lyrical, even the pounding on the door. You can close your eyes and turn it into music. But a voice causes distress when it says the same thing each day, over and over. You begin to believe it. I believed it. For a long time, I basked in it. I called it my normal. I made it my only choice.

But that was before I recognised me.

Restlessness is who I am. Wildness is my name now. I have no words, most days. No strength to go through the harsh weather, people and the world. Peace of mind isn’t enough for me, and I wake each day wanting more. My normal comes with little things in life, like a stroll down a lonely path; the quietude and gentle sway of trees. I keep looking, searching for another adventure to feed my unquiet soul. But in all this I survive. I thrive because I’m a wild flower. I withstand harshness and chaos.

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I want to dream
Of places and beauty,
People and smiles.
The sweetness on their faces,
The sweet tingle of contentment
And the blissfulness of peace.

I want to see
The warmth of happiness
Seep deep within me,
Like cool water over a dry throat,
Or a goofy laughter of a child
On a roller coaster.

I want to taste
The pleasure that comes
With satisfaction.
Of knowing what wellness is,
Living a fulfilled life
While painting the world with wilderness.

This piece is a fictitious and poetic rambling about the chaos we live with most of our lives. The part of us we hide because, most times, we're not proud of it. Liked it? Tell me your thoughts.

First image is from Unsplash.
Second image, I snagged from a friend's whatsApp status. Not sure of the original source.