A Ruddy Blooming Flower

 

I suppose that you are wondering why I summoned you here today

On this page where words are lacking in variety and uniqueness

As I’m sure you are already aware that I have no great talent to display

Only aptitude for certain word sets that give me some small happiness

I am neither highly educated or pleasantly read among my peers

For they are the voice of many and I am merely an echo of subtleties 

Where I roam around through my own life from task to task and chore to chore

For I have not the education or the understanding of such things as useless badgering 

Or verbal flailing those who I do not know nor can comprehend in their entirety 

I have not the right mindset to continually expose myself to disconcerted argument

That changes nothing or helps my flowers grow for I am merely myself,

Often dull and uninteresting to others seeking confrontation

Because my true self, the truest me, can neither stomach or bare such mindless drivel. 

I am a nurturer by nature and seek only those things that are conducive to living

Surviving, healing and making right what I comprehend as wrong

Wrong for me at least and anyway there’s already so many people who do those sorts of things,

Brilliantly I might add, who I find myself impressed by from time to time 

As their words do strum delightfully inside my inner thoughts 

As they reciprocate their own minds to what confronted them acceptable or not

I do not envy them for their great compassion to approach delicate topics

With their hearty ire and rage nor do I lambaste them for doing so either

For I am only an observer, wholly dedicated to such as it is, as a small child

Standing between large creatures of language in a tennis match of never ending complications

Taking in the spectacle until I am bored of the event and ready to go play

Aggressively passive I say of myself not found in anyone's ideas of personality types

Yet here I always am, consistently and wisely constructed, accustomed to myself

For tomorrow after all is always tomorrow and tomorrows turn into years

And years turn into memories both forgotten and remembered where argument

Robbed someone of a day where the world was okay and not in need of anger.

It was simply changing to take on its own likeness from the mind of its creators

Who, and I say this with all honesty, I hope have learned or can learn

To let badgers be badgers and flowers to be flowers in their own likenesses

Which was not created in any one moment of any one day

But became what was cohesive for it to be as it needed in order to be what it truly was

A ruddy blooming flower in its own nature and likeness content in being so.

That will be all.  Thank you for your time,

Jade Jaspers