Winter 2024

White Lily

its life begins, already trapped

under too-bright lights and boxed-up walls.

it grows. it starts to yearn for

the magic of the world

and it inches towards the outside,

towards freedom,

but–

glass.

no escape.

disappointment is crushing, isn’t it?

if it could cry, it would.


it’s soon picked. they were impatient,

greedy hands reaching for its love

and velvet softness.

dressed up in unfamiliar wrapping,

crunch, crinkle

a death grip sucking its life out as it’s carried to the

outside world that it, once upon a time,

so desired to be a part of.


but it doesn’t have time to savor anything

as it is shoved back into a dark chamber,

suffocating ties—all it can feel, a small jolt

here and there.


voices materialize

it is shoved around again, into someone’s trembling hands

their tears spill onto it

soaking the crumpled wrapping it’s bound in

and it almost feels a bit sad for them.


but then it–

it wants to scream

as they pull it apart,

limb

by

limb,

ripped-up petals scattering the ground,

remnants of a miserable existence smeared on their hand

how can death be so painful?

where’s the numb sensation of relief? of bliss?

of cool, revitalizing darkness?

was this really how it was supposed to end?


alas, there’s nothing it can do as it gets killed.

and now, all you can think of is how,

as the white lily is dropped onto the floor,

a mutilated flower can still look so beautiful.