The Girl in the Wildflowers

A dirty yellow dress
Grass-stained stockings
Messy, curly hair
Sat among the wildflowers
With a broken heart in bloom.
Love was her middle name
And how well it fit.
She loved so deeply
And how deeply it stung her
And how deeply it blessed her.
She smiled as she crafted
A daisy chain in her hands.
It was a sad smile.
For though she played among
Fairies and dryads,
She was a lonely soul,
Tucked away.
Too scared to talk to people
Though she loved them so.
She would stay in her hideaway
Until the sky was streaked with orange.
She would draw pictures at night
Writing stories from her day.
She imagined herself standing
In a forest of oak
Vibrant and green and fascinating
She would be changed and more beautiful.
A ring of promise on her finger
Hair neatly in a bun
No longer so afraid of people
And better understanding herself.
She would realize here
That maybe her loneliness would never end
But she would be okay with that.
For she knows
That she always has been
And always will be
Truly and deeply loved
By those around her
And the Redeemer she has found.
And so
The girl in the wildflowers would create.
Illustrating grace.
The loneliness she knows
Becomes fuel for what she makes.
For art can only be made in solitude.
It is individual,
But she cannot keep it hidden,
And she allows herself
To share her art to the wild, broken world
And though it will often be rejected
She does so anyway.
She creates
without expecting anything in return.
And she will always keep loving
And never stop creating.
So now in these stories,
The tales of her day
And the drawings of her night,
She found her friends.
Desperately,
The girl in the wildflowers held on to hope
That maybe one day
Someone would read her stories
And love her for them.
And her loneliness would end
And she would stop hating herself
And her love for people
Would grow as she grew.
This was how she hoped
And how she imagined herself
As she sat among the wildflowers.