The last flower alive


I was born as a flower on a water-colour painting;

A meek and mild-mannered myothosis,
surrounded by three flowers, but I’m different from them.

I know I am.

They are content to remain the way they are, 
Two-dimensional and tamed.

I don’t wanna be painted with serious, sensible colours,
I want to explode in a rainbow of bright pink and crass yellow,
and I wont let Age become my killer.

I was born to rattle my frame,
born to burn a hole in it,

and break free

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