the crocus and the peony

would the crocus
prefer to be
a peony instead?

and would the nightingale
prefer to be
an owl?

i doubt it.

so why did i,
so arduously, for so long,
try to be someone i'm not?

i guess
it's part of being human.
and part of being woman
in a patriarchal, consummerist culture.
(and other, much more suddle reasons).

the crocus and the nightingale
put all their energy
into being who they are,
and in so doing
they are beautiful,
perfect.
they make it seem so easy.

i want to honor them,
so i decided
to flow my energy
to being, becoming, who i am.

but who is that?
the only way i know
to define myself -
through interraction, context,
and others' eyes.

does the crocus define herself
against its differences
with the peony?
i doubt it, but i will never know.

there must be more to this.
more to who i am
than the relfections i cast, by accident,
on forms outside myself.

so i believe,
that all there is to do,
is wait and witness,
no, more than that,
EXPERIENCE
the unfolding that is me.

experience it
patiently, effortlessly,
and delight,
just as the crocus does
in this short and exquisite
existence.