With the imminent demise of my dahlia before my eyes, I felt I had to sum up her purpose. No way will I allow this awakening, humbling experience to be in vain. A life is a life after all. When I go will people feel the need to sum up my existence? and understand where I stood, why and what for?
I could be here all year just listing the questions and theories I came up with but I won’t bother you with the mania, and just give you the most crucial points that set me on my path. At first as I began to write this I thought of so many poetic ways I could share a piece of my soul without baring it all, but I’m not scared any more. I AM DAHLIA!
The thought of my Dahlia being a mother helped me relate even more as I am a mother myself. I have 1 son and devote every essence of my being to make sure he has the start I could have only dreamed about as a child. I had been to hell and back, from pillar to post, hoping and praying for the day I could break through the soil and bloom. Would I thrive like my Dahlia? Would my stem be strong enough to carry my greatness?
I was a lost little seed with no identity, no roots and no grounding. With a village I had to watch from the outskirts wondering why I didn’t have a permanent seat at the table like everyone else.
With no explanation and no comprehensible reason I was a black sheep. I wasn’t naughty as a small child, I was creative, resilient and thought I was an oprah singing ballerina, who left tiny letters with unspoken secrets for the faires that kept watch over me. But really I was damaged and bruised and in the eyes of my “protectors” a threat, an enemy. I didn’t feel it then. I buried an abundance of confusing incidences within those tiny letters and carried on singing and spinning on my toes.
But even then I was in tuned. I would cry to every love song. I would cry to the news. Being just 5 years old, I understood heartbreak. I felt the worlds pain and need for healing. At the same time finding insignificance in my own pain. I smiled and felt my purpose was to make sure noone ever felt unhappy or unloved.
“You bitch” SNIP
“You whore” SNIP
Was I the stem?
I bid farewell to who I could have bloomed to be. Looking around at an amazing garden of flowers right beside me, As I looked up from the dirt. I smiled in happiness as they were tended to. Feeling refreshed for them everytime the rain fell and nourished their growth, not even noticing my own demise. As they grew higher above me, I didn’t even realise I was gathering dirt, being buried. Snipped in my prime.