I don’t want to stick out like a weed in a field of wildflowers.

My petals don’t exist. They’re broken, folded, and torn.

Theirs are pretty, furbished, and bright.

They claim they’re like me, ripped open flowers.

I wish for that curse to be lifted upon them.

Nobody should have to bear the burden I cost on others.

Their petals should continue to shine.

If I could, I would take all their bad petals.

Relieve them of their own burdens of creased, folded, broken, and torn petals.

I would be willing to stick out if it meant you didn’t have to.