Lily

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: True Confessions  |  House: Booksie Classic
I wonder what it would be like to be a lily.

Submitted: October 11, 2019

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Submitted: October 11, 2019

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I wonder what it would be like to be a lilly. They're beautiful. I want to be beautiful. When it rains, the water washes away all the dust and toxins that the flower has from being out in the streets. I want it to rain on me, so I can be washed from all things that aren't good for my growth. When watered, given sunlight and treatment to the Lilly, they grow tall and strong and bright. I've been drinking water, I do stay outside to catch some sunlight, but why aren't I tall and strong? Lillies are vibrant, have strong features and every different colored lilly has a different meaning. A white lily stands out. I want to stand out. White lilies are beautiful because they seem pure, untouchable. White lillies are hard to find and hard to maintain. White represents purity. I want to be a lily, that is white. I want to be a white lily. White lillies are treated nicely, they are displayed in a vase, and aren't touched because they're just too beautiful to want to touch, because someone knows if you continue to touch, a flower will wither, and look ugly then one has to throw it out because it isn't presentable. In a vase, at a distance is the right place for a lily. Its only job is to only stay there, because it is just to strong, self explanatory. I can't be a white lily. I'm not pure. What makes things different between lily and myself, is that i was touchable. I was an easy target for many, and I made myself become one. Lillies are self explanatory, I need a million words to describe myself, because I am that complicated. I am that one lilly who was put in a bouquet of flowers at ralphs, and was squished upon other various flowers. Many people passed by me, touched the batch of flowers and still, I wasn't the lilly they wanted to delicately put in a vase at home in the center of their table to be visible to everyone. I am that lily that was dragged around, spotting from being broken to many times. That lily, after weeks and weeks of not being picked at the grocery store, ends up in the trash because I wasn't picked. I wasn't wanted. I am not cut enough, vibrant and fresh enough to be in a vase, with other lilies, on someone's table.


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