In a field of wheat I’m a daisy.
The stalks grow close and suffocating,
Their shade starves me,
Their paper touch deserts me.
When the wind blows and they move in waves
I cannot bend with them.
I watch them move together,
Beautiful and swirling,
As they jostle my leaves.
I am a daisy in amongst wheat.
And people ask me why I do not grow.
And people ask me why I do not bow.
And people ask me why I cannot flow.
In empty grass I would lean
In the sunshine and smile.
In empty grass I could turn
And watch the day pass.
In empty grass you could find me
For your daisy chains
And you would see my worth.
But here in my wheat field
I will only be judged on my wheatiness.
What use am I in a field of useless?
Smothered and covered and silent and lost?
Value and value not value but cost.
Autism and Expectations 
Very nice poem!
LikeLiked by 1 person
I appreciate and understand your poem. My parents always said I was like an onion in the petunia patch-their take on the song about the petunia in an onion patch. It wasn’t meant to be an offense, but a way of identifying I didn’t belong-by mainstream society’s standards. I am coming to the realization I don’t need to belong to any group of people who discriminate those who are different than them. I pray for a quiet niche of small scale socialization. I leave it to God to help me find it.
LikeLike
Love this Rhi xx
LikeLike
This is beautiful, Rhi 🙂 xx
LikeLike
Love it! Wish I had your way with words so that I could say how it makes me feel…….
LikeLiked by 1 person
I think you’ve expressed yourself perfectly 😊
LikeLike