It is staring me down; the yellow eye of the strawflower is delicately watching me without end. This unending stare shows me the yellow heart inside the middle. The color of this fat heart-shaped spot is like love overflowing to the outermost tips of its petals, where the love suddenly turns burnt orange. These bright petals are crinkly and create a mild fear for me of destroying the delicate petals.
I feel like this strawflower. My skin has been burnt, the out most reaches of my love have turned stale. I have turned cautious toward strangers, because someone got too close and crunched up a little bit of me. I disliked the pain so I grew defenses that are so delicate and different that no one wants to walk near me. Because I was ignored, and hurt, I turned toward the ever-loving horses, spending more time with the horses than those that may or may not love me. Inside, my heart is bright with love, but it takes a special somebody to see past my delicate yet burned self, covered in hay and horse.
Like the strawflower, I have grown somewhat delicate to defend myself. That defense is an attitude change; sadly it is accidentally tripped every so often. Soon, I will be far from my roots like the flower in my room. Our beauty brings observers close; our special defenses send them away again. I hope that one day someone will get past my special defenses, like I did the strawflower’s.