Daisy Chains

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.

6 thoughts on “Daisy Chains

  1. 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.


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