You wanted me to be one of those flowers-
bursting with exuberance and
dripping bright colors.
Pink, red or maybe yellow?
The flower that was there in every bouquet,
the one always plucked first,
the one found in gardens of houses
with pretty facades.
But I grew into a flower-
quiet and unwashed.
Growing along with the creepers
on the desolate and dilapidated frontiers.
Observing from a shy distance,
the untrue faculties of the world.
My words in a masquerade of silence and fear.
But you never seek to appreciate, respect or understand
But how unfair,
for beauty is bestowed in every soul
and so we are told
but rarely heed.