even the flowers die eventually.

My flowers aren’t dead

Though their petals are wilted 

And what used to be pinks and yellows and blues is now grays and blacks and browns

They are still alive

Even if they no longer fill the room with a sweet scent

Or their stems are crumbling underneath them

Don’t tell me they’re dead

Because they’re not.

I put in so much work for them

I watered them, even when it was difficult to just get out of bed

I turned them towards the sun, because I read that sunshine made them thrive

I went and bought the right soil, so rich and dark

How can you say that they’re dead

Look at them, look at their circumstances 

My flowers are fine.

Their pots aren’t broken, the ceramic is intact

The water is clear and pure

The sunshine reaches them even on rainy days

What more do they want from me

What can make them stand up straight

What can make their petals bloom like they were supposed to

I tried everything, followed all the directions

But my flowers aren’t fine

My flowers have died

A shift in the wind, a pause outside the window

My flowers have died.