I Am a Flower

This is a rewrite of a story I posted here a couple of years ago.

I knew I was stupid 'cause Mama told me so.

When I was little, when I was big, when I was drowning, when I was on dry ground. She told me I was daft like a dummy, absurd like Astroturf, fatuous like Faust. I was stupid.

I knew I was loud 'cause Daddy told me so.

When I was so quiet, he thought I was a coat rack I was still too loud. When I walked across the room, he heard my pant legs brush against each other and he was deafened. He told me I was garish like a gargoyle, meretricious like Madonna, shrill like shrieking voices. I was loud.

I knew I was smart 'cause she told me so.

When I was afraid, she brought out my drawings and writings. She told me only someone with intelligence could create so powerfully. She told me I was perspicacious like Plato, keen like Kierkegaard, astute like Aquinas. I was smart.

I knew I was beautiful 'cause he told me so.

When the room cleared, leaving only smeared mirrors and empty slips, he told me I was pretty. He told me I was pretty like a painting, lovely like lacquered lace, beautiful like belladonna lilies. He made love to me with his body while his soul remained elusive. I was beautiful.

I knew I was dead 'cause the world told me so.

When everyone was gone, there was no sound. When I cut myself, I didn't bleed. When I passed through a crowded room, no one looked at me. The world told me I was tired like a tiny tablet, cold like a cadaver, bloodless like beads of brown glass. I was dead.

I knew I was dumb 'cause people misunderstood me.

When I spoke, they turned away in silence. When I called to them, they furrowed their brows and shook their heads. When I tried to listen, they spoke a different language. The people told me I was unintelligible. They told me I was garbled like grand gigs on gouged records, discordant like distressed dulcimers, barking like Babel-towered breeds. I was dumb.

You changed all that and made me believe again.

I was beautiful. I could hear. I could be heard. I was alive. I was smart. I knew.

Behind you, over your shoulder, was Mama, Daddy, the world. I thought the only way to loose their grip was with the sharp arrow. Its point was always cold, its blood always warm. It never left me alone or failed me. But, I went too far and began to drown. I didn't mean it to happen that way.

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I'll slip away now, quietly, in the night. No one will notice for a while, and that's all right with me. I'll leave this world of beautiful gray, and enter a different world of stepping stars, and jelly jars. I won't be black and blue; I won't be red and raw. I'll be a dancer or a clown or a space shuttle pilot. I'll trip the sky and live in color, looking down at all of you and loving you harder.

Don't cry, but miss me a little.

I am a flower.