the wildflower does not shrink
from the opportunity to burst
from a newspapered doorstep.
it refuses to fall
into the acquiescence
of predictability, and instead,
shudders the garden path from order.
the wildflower insists on these disruptions,
leaning indelicately toward a chaos
of sacrilege, striking scandalous
curse words on the hedgerows.
it is not enough to simply gaze
from the safety of a window box
and tell yourself this is what you deserve.
that life is curving you
into an apostrophe.
do not be fooled.
you will never bloom like this,
pruned and plucked.
you must take that one thing
- your unkempt and lovely heart -
and let it fly.