By: Alysse Stasio

A wild flower in a field of roses
Its hidden beauty blooming within
A misshapen stalk with weird poses
And petals as delicate as the wind

They never want the wild flower
They want the perfect bloom
Colors never seen atop a thorn tower
Putting off and enchanting perfume

The wild flower sticks out like a sore thumb
Almost as if it were grown from a different field
But from this field there is a quiet hum
The wild flower has finally healed

It sees the beauty in the world
And slowly stand, at last unfurled