I want you with a fistful of daisies,
A handful of cheerful unassuming flowers that show me there is beauty in something so ordinary.
I want you to let me be weak for just a moment,
To have you knock on my door, run in, and hug me until the minutes on your watch seem pointless.
Until our hearts are almost syncopated.
I want to curl up, tiny, and seemingly untouchable, and still have the faint touch of your finger graze up and down my back, soothing my fears, until I can finally find the safe space in time to rest.
I want you to be with me,
To show me I don’t have to face this uncharted territory alone,
To prove to me I don’t need to be ashamed.
And that as breakable and fragile as a daisy may be, as simple and common, I too am Something to be treasured and cared for.
Something worth the work and tenderness it takes to keep it abloom.
Something that deserves the hope of the sun on my face and the sweetness of the Sustenance of your love.
After all, daisies are the most human flower.
And after all, I am sick.
I am sick now, and that label itself terrifies me a bit, and I can’t help but feel that I am frail in this instance.
And you, by trying to maintain the routine are breaking my spirit.
Sending my soul back to its starting point.
The jumping pad.
The place that tells me to inhale all these tears and emotions and never let them out because I am brave.
And brave girls don’t cry.
I don’t have the courage to tell you “I need you” with my voice.
It gets caught somewhere behind my tongue and my pride.
But the thing is darling,
I am brave.
And brave girls ask for help.
And I needed you then.
And I need you now.
So I write you this poem.
I need you to sit in the garden with me.
To validate my human fears and newfound ailments.
I deserve the daisies.
The minute-long hugs.
The face that begs… “Tell me about it.”
The heart that says, “You can’t scare me away.”
The one other human who besides all odds sees something unique and exceptional in a being that to others is only a snarled batch of weeds.
I can fake it for you, pretend I am more exotic than the daisy I am, but what’s the point?
This is new.
This is fresh life.
This is worth the effort.
I need you and your daisy-filled hands.