My Life, My Paintbrush

We are told

leaves are green,

branches are brown,

flowers should blossom in bright colors.

But who gets to decide that? Nature, says society.

Well,

My leaves are lavender,

My branches are blue,

My flowers might flourish,

or they might fade.

Sometimes my lavender leaves languish,

Sometimes my blue branches grow thorns,

covering the plant in crimson stain.

Sometimes my flowers are thrown in fiery red fire,

turning everything pitch-black.

Nobody wants to go near it

Nobody can save it.

Black, burnt, battered.

I am broken gracefully into pieces.

Pieces buried in the soil,

nutrients released,

plant regrows.

Another possibility arises.

The process is terrifying, heart-wrenching,

but I have been set free, free to decide –

What colors fill my plant,

When to change the colors, and

How I want it colored.