Daisies.

Spring's lightly buttered, bittersweet popcorn

dainty gems freshly popped by Mother Nature

adorning the fields,

embellishing every patch of grass I walk past

Whispering,

Hey, pick me

See if he loves you back

Others see their pastel petals as silken ribbons

pearly white and yellow

delicately entwined with the springtime

their subtle beauty lacing the meadows

But not me.

In my eyes

they're hundreds of little paper twist ties confining my fingers,

Each wicked squeeze a permanent reminder,

imprisoning me with memories of August the year past

when I wasted my precious hours picking away at them

hoping I could change the feelings of a boy

Who speaks to me with words as I look at him with feelings

Who shatters my heart a little bit more every time he shakes his head

laughing, telling them, “She's just a friend.”

As if plucking off their limbs

could change the mind of a boy who tears me apart

each time he glances over his shoulder and gave me a thumbs up

as he interlocks his fingers with hers.

Each time ending

with me forcing back the lump in my throat

shaking my head no; it's not okay at all

only to see the back of his head.

But, how could I possibly confess to a boy,

who I've been unconditionally in love with for six years,

that he's caged butterflies in my stomach since day one?
That he's got me suffering through the intricacy of feeling too much?

If only I could change how he felt,

I most definitely would

these dainty little deceivers

left my heart and I trembling, whimpering

“I wish I could.”

I know better than to trust those posies,

those deceitful dime-sized delinquents

growing in a garden of green.

Because each of those

tiny white lies

have fifty-five petals.

(RL)