Why Wildflower Seeds?

In college, an individual gave me a packet of wildflower seeds as a symbolic gift. The seeds represented new possibilities and creations that could spring forth from my past experiences; the individual chose wildflowers because we didn't yet know what my future would hold. 

I thought perhaps I would write a book, either directly or loosely based on my life, and title it Wildflower Seeds. The book would be my flowers. As I started to write, however, I questioned just how vulnerable I would allow myself to be. I set the project aside and gave up on writing for awhile.

Recently, two individuals have encouraged me to start writing again. I will probably tell their stories in time; one reminded me how much I enjoy writing, and the other suggested that I should share my opinions even when I am sometimes reluctant to do so. Therefore, this blog will be a mixture of things: poetry, short stories, and essays. They are my current collection of seeds, and I am eager to see the flowers that grow from them.

I will start with a poem I wrote as a young teenager. The poem explores the theme of self-doubt, and I think the poem is appropriate right now because in the past I have been hesitant to share my work for fear that it would not be good enough or that people would not like my ideas. I am finally trying to move past those doubts. Without further ado, here is "The Audience."

The Audience

I can barely hear myself speak

But I can hear every noise, every creak

I am afraid of something unknown

I’m in a group, yet I feel alone

I seem to be addressing someone

Some mysterious, invisible person

They can hear my every mistake

And cannot see the time I take

They only see my faults, my flaws

They see the end, and not the cause

I race against their invisible clock

And grow more panicked with every tick, each tock

This person cannot deny

That honestly, I do try

But they don’t really seem to care

And I can’t find help anywhere

So I give up, and start to cry

And only the audience sees the dream die

For every person that I find

Is never as harsh as the voice in my own mind