The Grasping Daisy

When my voice is unheard in the busyness of each day- I become like a Daisy, reaching for the sun- grasping for the attention of those looking for a Rose. Unnoticed because I am plain and ordinary- not a vibrant hue of red, as the rose is. So I write. Because as I write I am no longer a plain and ordinary Daisy- I am a White Clover, asking to be thought of I am a Forget-Me-Not, wanting to be remembered I am an Iris, full of wisdom and hope I am a Magnolia, I persevere I am strong when I write, I am seen, I am heard. All of these flowers are in me all are visible in writing. So as the Daisy in me grasps for the sun, the others lie in wait for when I write Or am ready to show them all.