The Flower in the Forest by Dahlia Rosenthal
In an extremely crowded room
I want to lay in my words.
Sometimes I feel invisible.
The songbird music in my ears gently lifting my body. Away from all the other bodies.
Furthering my reality from the unfamiliar.
Unfamiliar Bodies. Strange energies. Wandering Eyes.
The Eyes.
Always looking, never settled.
Can I settle and still explore?
Can I lay amongst the unfamiliar bodies and still feel home?
I wonder, gazing upon the sea of abstract people and moments, would You hold me?
By my stem? Gently?
Would You pluck my petals eventually?
Leaving me with nothing but the bulb of my being.
Naked, and alone.
Could I lay amongst the bodies safely?
A vibrant, distinct flower nestled between foreign skin.
Crawling and pressing itself towards the chest of the unknown.
Searching for its own imprint.
A flower.
Curious for its own roots amongst the glorious, peculiar forest.
Made up of tall trees with their heads in the clouds.
The flower may never reach the clouds.
But she will nuzzle her body amongst the unfamiliar bodies, tenderly pushing her petals,
her stem and leaves, her Body,
hoping to match with a truthful imprint.