The wildflower grew from the wild child. They were carefree and marched to the beat of their drum. They were led by music that only they could hear.
The feeling of freedom comes with a price. The ones locked in a mental prison become guards to the free. Don’t do this, don’t do that, you don’t make sense, too many colors, too many smiles. How dare you be happy when you have nothing?
The wildflower dies in the wild child. They begin to conform to what society says rules. They wilt and die and forget they need nothing except themselves to make them happy.
The adult emerges and looks for happiness outside of themselves, forgetting about the time they were wild and free. They forget about the time the wild child was alive.
No one could ever sever the roots of the wildflower. The only question is, which parts of yourself are to be watered?
Is it the roots of the wildflower that grew inside the wild child who marched to the beat of their drum?
Or is the adult that emerged from what society says rules?
For me, I choose the wildflower that grew inside of the wild child because, without her, am I really alive?