portrait frame
if
fallen flowers are considered less beautiful than
fallen leaves that are romanticized
more on the ground in their blushing auburn shades,
reminiscent of pumpkin pie and mustard and cherry red lips -
if those are more fitting for the ground than cotton candy shades of rose, daisy, lavender and magnolia then maybe beauty is forever just a bud
dangling
in the air, hung for view, for attention and advertisement but trapped and chained with an inability to touch Earth, to step down on its feet and spread its wings and juice out life until the last glimpse of sun.
maybe flower petals are the butterfly cocoons that the caterpillar stares up at from the ground both zealously and forlornly. but those on the ground do not know the freedom that they have compared to the frame the flower is stuck in, as a
permanent,
lasting,
suffocating portrait.
